


As the Sun Follows the Moon

by Tiarn



Category: Guild Hunter - Nalini Singh
Genre: Angst and Humor, Banter, Case Fic, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Overstimulation, Touch-Starved, Wings, post-Archangel's Sun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27932554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiarn/pseuds/Tiarn
Summary: After three years apart, Illium goes to join his best friend in China. Within the walls of the Citadel, he and Aodhan must work together to hunt down whoever is responsible for a mysterious attack in the archives - and work through their own issues at the same time.
Relationships: Aodhan/Illium (Guild Hunter)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 32
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [martyrsdaughter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/martyrsdaughter/gifts).



> I had enormous fun writing this - happy Yuletide!
> 
> Set after _Archangel's Sun_ but doesn't contain spoilers for that book (except to acknowledge the Sharine/Titus pairing exists).
> 
> Thanks to Karios for reading this over for sense for me :)

**The Citadel, China**

Aodhan stared down at the message that had just hit his inbox. Outside the room where he’d set up his office, the birds were beginning to wake, cheerful trills in the mist. 

Being here this early wasn’t unusual. Between the unnatural horrors Lijuan had left behind, vampire uprisings, and a decimated population on the brink of famine, he hadn’t gotten much sleep in the last three years serving as Suyin’s second. 

When he did sleep, he always dreamed of the same thing, or rather, the same person. Sometimes they were innocent dreams, a jumbling together of memories of the two of them as boys. On those nights, Aodhan would wake with Illium’s delighted laughter echoing silently in his ears, and his heart would ache with missing his friend. 

On other nights, his dreams were less innocent: no longer of the boy but the man, Illium’s eyes dark with sensual heat, holding Aodhan’s gaze as he stripped off his clothes, until the perfect sculptor’s form of his body lay bare under the moonlight. Aodhan woke from those with a different kind of ache, so hard it was painful, arousal and shame a disorienting hum in his blood. He was supposed to be using this time apart to get over Illium, not fueling his obsession with fantasies.

He closed his eyes, but when he opened them, the message was still there, an official communication from the Tower of personnel transfer. His personal messages chirped a moment later: _See ya soon, Sparkle._

There were so few experienced angels and vampires left here. Suyin’s territory desperately needed more, but thanks to Lijuan other territories had few to spare. On top of that, few people wished to come to the land the Archangel of Death had ruled over for so long, and there were still whispers that the whole territory remained haunted, despite all Suyin’s efforts. Which was why Aodhan hadn’t really expected a response to Suyin’s appeal to the Cadre for more people—but also why there was no way to refuse this offer.

Something like panic began to rise from the depths of his soul. He wasn’t ready for Illium to be here. His walls felt thin and fragile, as if they would shatter at even the most casual of touches. 

It had been so long since anyone had touched him. 

Suyin’s new people respected him, for the most part, but they were not the Seven, and he wasn’t relaxed enough here to allow even the small casual contacts he’d been growing used to in New York. The thought of Illium here, in his space, casually brushing a wing against his, reaching out to grip his shoulder… Aodhan sucked in a breath, the yearning growing to painful intensity. He got up and threw open the shutters so he could stand on the balcony, gasping in the warm heavy air. 

Two sides of the same coin, people had joked when they were boys, the wild, sunny Illium and his quiet shadow. Aodhan wasn’t sure when he’d begun craving more than simple friendship except that it had been in the Before half of his life. 

Before the imprisonment and irreparable shattering of mind and body. Before he’d become a broken echo of a man. Before touch had become something to fear as well as crave.

But even Before, Illium had always and _only_ ever treated him as a friend. And After, well, for those long years of trying to put himself back together, simple friendship had almost been enough. 

Until it hadn’t.

He’d come to China to learn to be something other than Illium’s faithful shadow, hoping that ridding Lijuan’s old court of its demons could settle his own. But now his own personal blue-winged addiction had followed him here.

A burst of parrots taking flight, bright bits of color in the mist. Aodhan followed their path, breathing in the morning’s stillness. What was he going to do?

“Nothing,” he told the morning air. “I am going to do nothing because this changes nothing.” The reasons he’d left still held: though he might be broken in so many ways, he could not—would not—be the weak to Illium’s strong.

Even if it tempted him.

“No.” A quiet promise. There was too much obligation between them already, and it would poison their friendship on the deepest level if he deliberately kept himself weak just to keep Illium hovering—protectively, attentively, and above all entirely _platonically_ —at his side. 

He went inside, shut the balcony doors.

 _We could use you here, but you should know I don’t need a babysitter_ , he sent back to Illium.

The response was nearly instant: _Good._

He puzzled at the shortness of the reply, trying to read tone, wondering if he’d offended Illium. Illium tended towards either long involved conversations or snarky short commentary, and this was neither. Searching for a clue, he scrolled through their recent conversation history, pausing at an exchange where Illium had been reflecting on how far the rebuild of New York had come. _We’re nearly done,_ Illium had said. _In many places you’d never know anything was ever damaged, unless you knew where to look for the scars._

Maybe the rebuild drawing to a close was what had motivated Illium to volunteer for a temporary transfer. Maybe it truly didn’t have anything to do with Aodhan. A strange mixture of disappointment and relief filled him.

He kept scrolling, seeing the photos he’d sent to Illium with his reply: _There are signs of rebirth here too._ _The good kind, not the eat-your-face-off Lijuan kind._ A photograph of a bird nesting amid ruins; the bright green of spring growth pushing up through frost. Small beauties in the everyday.

Aodhan snorted, re-reading Illium’s response and his own come-back:

 _There’s pretty things here too._ Illium had attached a photo of himself, blue feathers sparkling in the sunset. 

_Ha. Ha. Ha._

But his amusement faded as he stared at the lines of that face, as familiar as his own. His heart gave a squeeze. Putting the phone down, he made himself get back to work. It would take several days for Illium to reach the Citadel, even at the speed he flew. Sitting around brooding until he arrived would be not only pathetic but also shirking his responsibilities as Suyin’s second. There was still too much to do here and not enough hands to do it.

He almost managed to put it to the back of his mind, until—

“Sir, an angel has been spotted crossing into mainland China,” Xiaoli, Suyin’s newest aide, came to tell him later that day as he helped haul building materials for repairs. The young vampire had only joined Suyin’s service three months ago—a sign that Suyin was winning back the trust of her people, since despite her youth, Xiaoli came from an old and powerful family. Her family had lost many members to Lijuan’s final descent into madness, Xiaoli had told him, and some of her family were wary of her serving in another archangel’s court. “But Archangel Suyin is an architect—someone who creates. She can rebuild what the goddess of death unmade,” she’d told him, her dark eyes fierce. “I came to see our art preserved, our stories told, to remind the world we are more than Lijuan’s madness and always have been. Too many of our remaining treasures are being looted and smuggled out of the country, and I will see it stopped if I have to personally hamstring every single vulture treasure-hunter as an example.” 

Aodhan could certainly appreciate an artist with the soul of a warrior—especially as she’d also turned out to be meticulously organized and technologically adept aide. She’d even managed to finally stop Vivek at the Tower from hacking into the Citadel’s systems to ‘friendly test’ them.

Xiaoli showed him the low-res satellite image. The blue wings were unmistakable. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say that’s our incoming visitor from New York,” she said.

“Yes,” he murmured, his heart in his throat. Now, after so long apart, every second was only bringing Illium closer. 

***

He wasn’t sure how he got through the next few days. He threw himself at patrols and plans and training. Gave himself stern lectures on how damned _fine_ he was going to be, how he wouldn’t react to Illium, no matter how his nerves twisted. Illium couldn’t ever know what he did to him. Torment, Aodhan could take; pity, never.

But when Illium finally landed in the main courtyard at the center of the palace, no amount of mental pep-talks had prepared Aodhan for the impact. 

Eyes of beaten gold. Blue-black hair, and wings of sapphire gilt with silver. Golden brown skin glowing from exertion. Illium’s beauty always made Aodhan itch to take up a paintbrush—or perhaps clay, something more tactile, where he could smooth the curves of those cheekbones in a way he couldn’t with the original. 

Illium beamed and walked over to embrace him as if had been five minutes rather than years since they’d last seen each other. It was like being hit with lightning, like every square inch of his body had grown extra nerve endings just to feel the glittering impact of Illium’s body pressing briefly against him. 

“Hey, Sparkle!” Illium stepped back as if the world hadn’t exploded into a dizzying mess of sensation. “Miss me?”

For a few seconds, Aodhan was incapable of speech, his whole body a box of shaken fireflies. Damn—he hadn’t been this touch-sensitive before. It had been getting better before he’d left! How was it worse after all this time apart? 

Perhaps avoiding all physical contact with _anyone_ for three whole years hadn’t been one of his better ideas.

Eventually he managed to locate his vocal cords. “Archangel Suyin is glad for the assistance. She’s not in the city right now, but I can pass along her thanks for you agreeing to serve here, even temporarily.” Suyin was currently dealing with vampire unrest in the southern part of her territory. 

Illium gave him a strange look. Because he was acting strangely. Aodhan scrambled, but all he could think was how the photos Illium had sent during their time apart had failed to capture a fraction of his brilliance. How he’d forgotten just how bright a gold Illium’s eyes were. 

The yearning hit him as it always did, the warring desire for touch and the fear of it wound around each other, moth circling candle flame. _Flames destroy moths_ , he reminded himself. Even if that wasn’t so, this particular flame had made it clear it did not want this particular moth. It wasn’t as if Illium had ever been subtle about that sort of thing; if he’d wanted Aodhan, he would’ve made that obvious long since. Aodhan needed to cling to that fact if he was to keep himself from burning.

“And what about you?” Illium cocked his head, golden eyes earnest and a little hurt. “I’m not here to cramp your style, if that’s what’s worrying you. I’m not an idiot; you’re the one who knows this territory. I’ll follow your lead here, I promise.” 

“All right,” he said slowly, still struggling to break free of the daze Illium’s presence had sent him into. Illium meant his words, he knew, but whether he’d be able to keep to them was another question entirely. The Seven weren’t exactly hierarchical, but there was still an order to who took charge whenever they worked with each other, sorted by experience, power, and personality, and previously Aodhan had always followed Illium’s lead when they were paired up. Plus Illium had spent so many years anxiously watching over him. Would he really be able to break that habit?

“Where’s your gear?” He’d expected Illium to pack light, but he wasn’t carrying anything at all.

Illium grinned and made a flourishing gesture. A sturdy pack appeared in his hands. He hefted it, grin widening.

Aodhan stared. Illium had had the ability to glamour small objects on his person for a while now, mostly using it to invisibly carry various forms of weaponry—but the pack wasn’t small, and it hadn't been strapped to him. Last time they’d tested the ability, Illium had been able to ‘hold’ about five pounds of weight invisibly before he hit the limit of his power. 

Illium hoisted the pack. “Pretty neat, huh?”

“How much can you carry now?” Illium might be treating this new trick flippantly, but he wasn’t fooling Aodhan at all. 

A hint of sobriety. “Fifty pounds, more or less. It doesn't occupy physical space while it's disappeared now, either.”

In their long shared look, Aodhan could read all of Illium’s thoughts and worries as if they'd never been apart. That rate of power increase—it was too much, too quickly. Who knew what it meant for the ‘normal’ timetable for an angel who everyone knew would one day be an archangel? 

But he also knew Illium didn’t want to talk about it.

“I’ll make sure we add ‘miniature packhorse’ to your file.” He paused. “Pack-pony?”

“Pack _stallion_ , surely.” Illium vanished the pack again.

Xiaoli choked in the background. 

Aodhan waved at the vampire. “Xiaoli can show you where your room is and brief you after you rest.” 

Illium was frowning. “You’re not—” 

“I’m scheduled on patrol this morning.” Because he was a coward, his heart beating too fast at Illium’s proximity, his skin burning with the need for touch.

“Take me with you; I don’t need rest, and I’d like to get a feel for the area as soon as I can.”

Aodhan wavered, and as he did so, the man who he was supposed to be patrolling with landed in the courtyard. A little too close. Aodhan stepped back, trying not to flinch.

Yasen smiled broadly at Aodhan, his dark hair ruffled from the wind. The angel was one of the handful of warriors who’d come to serve Suyin from other territories. He was originally from eastern Russia, he’d told Aodhan, a territory that had passed through two archangels since Uram and was likely to be re-allocated to a third when a new archangel eventually rose and boosted the much-reduced ranks of the Cadre. In Suyin, he saw stability. Suyin would keep China as her territory no matter what, they all knew.

“I’m ready when you are, Sir.” His expression narrowed as he took in Illium standing next to him.

Had Illium stepped closer, or had Aodhan himself instinctively moved in that direction just now? Every feather quivered, as if trying to close the gap remaining. The words came out before he knew he’d made the decision. “A change in the schedule. I’m taking Illium out with me.”

“But—” Yasen began, but Aodhan lost the rest of the objection because Illium’s wing brushed his, and it took everything not to react to the sparks of sensation, a burst of fireworks down his side. 

He took off.

The cool relief of air rushing through his feathers, against his skin. He rose straight up, before remembering that if he was showing Illium the area, they’d need to be able to see the ground—which meant no hiding above the clouds. Damn. He levelled off. At least the clouds reduced the sun’s dazzle effect on his feathers a bit.

Illium rose with breathtaking speed and agility, as if he hadn’t had to regrow all the muscle and bone of his wings so recently. Aodhan sighed in sheer appreciation. No one flew like Illium, as if he were dancing with the wind as his partner. In the air, there was no risk of Illium touching him, and his inner coil of tension eased. 

A tap against his mind, one he hadn’t felt in so long it nearly startled him out of the sky, the wry voice achingly familiar.

_You do know Yasen wants to get in your pants?_

Aodhan huffed, let his path smooth out into a glide. _Of course I know. He’s not exactly subtle._

_I can chop off his wings if you want._

_I can defend my own virtue_. He didn’t need Illium trying to protect him anymore. 

_I know._ An uncharacteristic melancholy in Illium’s tone.

Quiet fell between them as they flew over too many empty fields and burnt villages, where the only sign of life was the green of wilderness slowly reclaiming buildings. So few people to look up and see angels of shining blue and white overhead. 

_Why did you schedule yourself on patrol with him?_

Why was Illium so focused on this? 

_Yasen? There are too few of us to be picky about it, and no one goes on patrol alone. Too much risk._

He told Illium about the kind of things they’d encountered in his time here. Lijuan might have been defeated, but she’d left plenty of unpleasant surprises behind. Some of the ‘nests’ she’d sent into a kind of hibernation, so they’d initially thought areas clear of taint only to discover their mistakes when the monsters started emerging again. 

_More reborn?_

_Not only reborn. Animal-vampire hybrids, zombie bugs, mutant plants, you name it, we’ve found some version of it. An unfortunate number of them are infectious. We call them Infected._

_Huh. You really know how to sell a guy on a place._

_You volunteered,_ Aodhan pointed out.

_So did you. Perhaps we both need our heads looking at._

_Nothing new, then._

A chuckle came through the link. _I missed you, Sparkle._

 _Keep calling me that in front of the others and I’ll make you a bleach booby-trap again, Bluebell._ He’d played that trick once when they were boys, turning a handful of Illium’s feather’s splotchy white.

_Aw, you missed me too._

Aodhan rolled his eyes, knowing Illium would catch the feeling if not the visual from this distance. Eventually, he admitted softly, _I did miss you._

Even if having him here was going to kill him an inch at a time.

***

The patrol helped Aodhan clear his head, and by the time they made it back to the Citadel a few hours later, he felt like he had himself mostly under control again. This feeling lasted approximately five seconds after they landed—the time it took to spot the vampire speeding towards them.

“Sir!”

Manaia had come from Astaad’s territory to serve Suyin. Usually he wore a carefully neutral expression around Aodhan, but today, his face was carved with worry.

“Sir, Nianzu was just attacked down in the archive vaults. It looks like an Infected attack.” Manaia’s hands balled into fists.

Aodhan focused properly for the first time in days. Nianzu was an old angel, but not powerful. A gentle soul, he had been slowly cataloguing his way through Lijuan’s vast collection of art, books, and assorted miscellany. To think of him being attacked...

“Status?” he asked grimly.

“Alive, but unconscious. Claw marks, and he’s lost a lot of blood. The healer says he’s unlikely to wake up any time soon. He’s under restraints in the healing wing.” Aodhan and Manaia exchanged a glance, shared concern temporarily overriding the antagonism that usually sat between them. The vampire still didn’t trust Aodhan, even though they’d been working together for more than a year now. However, he was a damn good warrior, and loyal enough to Suyin, so Aodhan couldn’t really fault him. 

“Why is he under restraints?” Illium broke in.

“Sometimes bites from Infected are only dangerous to the person bitten, but sometimes it makes them dangerous to others as well,” Aodhan explained. He’d thought they’d finally managed to clear the palace of Lijuan’s little ‘treats’, but the Citadel was a labyrinth, full of endless nooks and crannies as well as literal secret passages. Suyin knew the Citadel better than anyone, but it was still possible they’d missed something.

“Archangel Suyin’s power can counteract the toxin from Infected,” Manaia said, eying Illium warily. Aodhan hastily introduced the two.

“Take us to the site of the attack.” 

Before they left the courtyard, Aodhan paused and gave Illium a hard look, sent the message privately so Manaia couldn’t overhear: _You said you’d follow my lead—I need you to keep to that. You haven’t been dealing with these things like we have. If I say to do something, you do it without stopping to ask why._

Illium’s eyebrows went up, but he nodded. _I trust you._


	2. Chapter 2

Illium followed Aodhan through the vast maze of the Citadel. While the place hadn’t suffered physical destruction on the scale of New York, it still had an air of rebirth about it, though there had to be a better, non-zombie-invoking word for it. An air of change, maybe? Like it hadn’t adjusted fully into its new ruler yet, its past evils purged but not yet repaired. Slightly odd atmosphere aside, the architecture itself was still—as Ellie would say—hella impressive.

He surreptitiously drank Aodhan in as Aodhan arranged hunting parties to begin the search for the Infected. It was so good to see him again, in the flesh. The people here were clearly used to the sight of his diamond beauty, but Aodhan also seemed more settled in it, not even flinching when a stray sunbeam came through the clouds and turned his wings briefly to white flame. He just stepped smoothly out of the sunlight without breaking off the instruction he was in the middle of giving, pretending not to notice the gasps. Aodhan might be more assured, but the way he ignored his own beauty and hoped everyone else would too hadn’t changed.

Powerful vampires and angels had started approaching Aodhan the minute he’d reached adulthood—hell, even before that—wanting him to join their collection of sexual pets, failing to see the warrior beneath the hauntingly beautiful surface.

Aodhan had hated it. Hated being the center of attention, hated being wanted for a beauty he despised. Reacted with hostile defensiveness to any and all approaches. So Illium had done the only rational thing: buried the awareness of his best friend’s sex appeal. Even as a youth, he’d known his friendship with Aodhan was too important to fuck up just because he was young and horny. 

Illium dragged his attention away from the way Aodhan’s shoulder muscles flexed as his wings shifted. Not a thing he should be thinking about. He had five bloody centuries of practice at this; why was it so hard now? Aodhan was off-limits, he reminded himself, and not only because the friendship was still too important to ruin for the sake of hormones.

Aodhan had only just begun to be able to accept touch again after so many years recovering. Illium would cut his own wings off before he risked jeopardising his progress. If he needed a reminder of what was at stake, all he had to do was remember Aodhan’s crystalline eyes as they’d been when they’d found him: the blank, uncomprehending pain of a wild animal taken beyond its limits, the frighteningly long moments when there had been no sense of self or sentience—no Aodhan—behind that gaze. Illium would do literally anything to avoid seeing that expression on Aodhan’s face again.

That truth steadied him, and thank goodness for that, given how jarring everything else was right now. It wasn't just Aodhan who'd subtly changed since last time they'd been together. Of course he’d seen Aodhan give commands before, it was just… the way people here reacted to them together was new. They looked to Aodhan first, and more than that, looked to him for reassurance about Illium’s presence here. 

Part of Illium rejoiced to see his friend’s strength returning. A darker part howled at the proof that Aodhan really hadn’t needed him here. 

Maybe Caliane and Elena and his own mother had been wrong to worry, and he’d been wrong to use their concerns as an excuse to come here. 

Except—had Aodhan always been this tense, rigid as a set of wires about to snap? He’d thought Aodhan had been getting slowly more relaxed—by Aodhan standards—about casual touch. But now he seemed as touch-averse as he’d been at his worst, back when Illium had feared for his friend’s sanity. He was doing that thing he used to do, constantly micro-repositioning himself so that to a casual observer it would seem mere chance that he hadn’t touched a single object, person, or furnishing since Illium had embraced him on arrival.

The stairwell door to the lower levels was narrow, and Aodhan held his wings in even more tightly so that not the slightest bit of him brushed the frame. Illium ducked after him, unsure what to think.

“So who is Nianzu and what was he doing down here?” Illium asked as they descended the stairs.

Aodhan explained that Nianzu was an old angel in charge of cataloguing Lijuan’s vast collections. “But this vault had already been cleared. He should have been safe.” Worry in his eyes.

Crates filled the dusty vault. Light came from modern fittings subtly retrofitted into the walls rather than torches; a surprise given the heavy ache of age the room gave off. Suyin’s doing, maybe? In the small clear space between crates was an old-fashioned desk piled with scrolls and books. An ink-stand had tipped over, and a pool of black spread across the floor, merging with a liquid much redder in hue, the surface still wet enough to capture reflections. The coppery smell of blood thickened the air, and spatters of it glistened wetly here and there, though less of it than Illium had expected, given that the old angel had been reportedly sucked dry. Illium’s stomach turned; presumably the rest of Nianzu’s blood was still inside whoever—or whatever—had attacked him.

Most of the crates were unopened, but those that had been unpacked spilled their contents onto every available surface. It was mostly art—sculptures, paintings, some ceramics—and Illium couldn’t help glancing at Aodhan to see what he thought of it. 

But Aodhan was all warrior, the artist nowhere to be found as he took in the space. He stopped Illium with a gesture when he would’ve gone over to inspect the desk. His gaze unfocused, as if he was listening to something distant.

Illium cocked his head, not hearing anything. “What is it?”

“The taint of an Infected,” Aodhan said softly. “You get a sense for it, after a while—a wrongness.” His eyes held nightmares. “There’s _something_ here, but it doesn’t feel quite like anything we’ve encountered before.”

“Any clue what we’re looking for? A zombie cockroach?”

Aodhan shook his head. “It would have to be larger, to injure and take so much blood from Nianzu. A cockroach wouldn’t have been big enough. Though we did find an Infected ant once that had swollen to the size of a melon, so who knows?”

Illium whistled. “ _Giant_ zombie cockroaches. Lovely.”

They went over the room inch by inch, falling smoothly into a search pattern without needing to discuss it, but they found no sign of whatever had attacked Nianzu. Joining the widening systematic search of the Citadel, they began to work through the rest of the storage areas on the lower levels. 

Illium noticed how careful Aodhan was not to brush against anything accidentally, even when they entered a long gallery room crowded so thickly with tall vases and sculptures that he had to edge sideways to avoid some of the more tightly packed ones. Though maybe Aodhan’s carefulness was plain good sense, since this whole place was apparently potentially home to giant undead bugs. And he'd thought Lijuan's monsters couldn't get any grosser.

The gallery gave him the creeps. The statues were of unsettling fantastical beasts, beautiful but almost tormented—and casting shadows way too much like figures crouching in the corner of his eye.

“Is there a reason Archangel Suyin decided to keep Lijuan’s creepy statue collection?” he asked, looking up at a particularly gruesome vampiric figure carved in black stone.

“They’re over a thousand years old and nearly priceless; the technique used to make them has been lost.”

“They seem like pretty decent work,” Illium said solemnly, earning half a smile from Aodhan. It was an old joke, a phrase he uttered whenever Aodhan had dragged him along to exhibitions and galleries, used to describe everything from old masters to modern guerrilla art. 

“I dare you to say that to the Hummingbird.” Aodhan’s standard retort was as well-worn as it was toothless; Illium’s mother was familiar enough with her son’s games to know he meant no disrespect with his teasing.

Illium turned away from the disturbing statue, his attention catching on a shadow where there shouldn’t have been one. He took a step closer—

“Move!”

He was moving even before Aodhan’s alarmed cry, turning to meet the second shadow that had come from the side. Claws scrabbled on stone as it leapt. He whirled away, summoning his sword, but before he could strike there was a flash of steel as Aodhan brought his own weapon down. A high-pitched squeal, abruptly cut off.

Illium stared down at the enormous dead rat at his feet. It was about the size of a terrier, its body distorted like a monster from a B-grade horror movie, fangs sharp and dripping with black liquid.

He looked up. Aodhan held a bloodied sword, covered with that same unnatural black liquid. Apparently Lijuan’s mutant rats even bled creepily. Bloody fantastic. 

“I told you to move!” 

“I _did_ move,” Illium objected. “I’m faster than some demon rat.”

But Aodhan was staring at him in horror. Illium followed his gaze to a rip in his sleeve. Aodhan’s sword clattered to the ground as he closed the distance between them.

“Strip!”

Illium’s mouth hung open stupidly. “What?”

“You need to remove your shirt so I can check it didn’t infect you.”

Illium rolled his eyes but started unbuttoning his shirt. “Usually people buy me dinner first,” he quipped, moving away from the dead rat. He flung his shirt aside with a flourish. “See? I’m clean. The rat didn’t touch me.” He patted his bare abs for extra measure. “My modelling career dreams still live.”

Aodhan’s expression had gone odd, his eyes alive with fractured light. If it had been literally anyone else, Illium would’ve said Aodhan was looking at him hungrily. 

Even knowing he had to be mistaken, something dark and sensual in him responded to the look, made him reckless enough to tease. He struck a pose, putting his thumbs under his belt, tilted his pelvis. “Shall I take my pants off too while we’re at it, or are you… _satisfied_?” He drawled the last word. 

He’d thought Aodhan would just roll his eyes, but instead he made a strangled sound and shoved Illium up against the wall. Illium was so shocked he put up no resistance, and his wings hit the marble behind him with a whumph. Aodhan’s hands pressed hard against Illium’s chest, so close their breath intermingled, and his eyes flared, an inferno trapped in the blue-green of a glacier. For an infinitesimal fraction of a second, his gaze slipped to Illium’s lips. 

Holy fuck. 

Aodhan had just thought about kissing him. Illium had seen that look at close proximity on too many people’s faces to mistake it for anything else. 

But Aodhan was already backing away, shaking his head, pulling his wings in tight and defensive. 

“Stop messing around.” Aodhan’s words were tightly controlled. His focus snapped to the dead rat and whatever—whatever that moment had been between them—was folded away, locked back beneath his barriers as if it had never happened. 

Like hell it hadn’t happened. Illium stood rooted to the spot, his heart still pounding, for once in his life completely lost for words. 

He’d genuinely forgotten that they were still investigating Nianzu’s attack until Aodhan picked up his sword and methodically sliced open the dead rat’s stomach. It stank, but there wasn’t the sudden gush of an angel’s worth of blood. “Not enough blood,” Aodhan confirmed. “Plus it doesn’t look big enough to have clawed Nianzu up so badly.”

“I thought I saw a second shadow.” They exchanged glances before systematically going over the gallery. Nothing.

Illium still felt like he’d been hit with a sledgehammer. Aodhan _wanted_ him. Had touched him, and not shyly. Had—however briefly— _l_ _usted after him_. Who could focus on zombie-demon critters in the face of that startling new information?

Aodhan apparently could, because he remained utterly businesslike as they continued the sweep of the rest of the lower levels. Illium closed his eyes briefly, reminding himself that he, too, was a seasoned professional with a job to do. This wasn’t the place or the time.

The other teams reported in one by one, adding up to the same nothing before they made their way over to the infirmary.

“Has Nianzu woken?” Aodhan asked.

“He’s in Anshara,” a healer told them. The healing sleep. “The toxin he was infected with is more virulent than any we’ve seen in any recent attacks, though he lost so much blood that very little of it stayed in his system. We are almost certain the bites he suffered came from a vampire, though identifying the claw marks is proving more difficult.” The healer handed over still images showing the marks. “They are larger and deeper than the claw marks we’ve seen Reborn cause previously, almost like something made by a large cat.” The healer left them to contemplate that.

“Are there any vampires who can manifest cat-claws here?” Illium asked. There were a few at the Tower.

Aodhan shook his head. “There are very few vampires here older than a few decades, and only one with extra abilities. Manaia’s don’t involve claws, though.” His gaze travelled to the vampire who’d raised the initial alarm, who was arguing with the younger vampire woman who’d met Illium upon arrival. 

“Could one of Lijuan’s Reborn have grown extra-nasty claws?” 

“It wouldn’t even make the top ten most surprising things we’ve found here.”

“Bloody hell. Remind me why I thought China was a good idea again?”

“Poor, poor Bluebell.” Aodhan looked again at the pictures the healers had taken of the claw marks, his expression sobering. “I’m more worried that the attacker might have escaped the Citadel, since we’ve turned up no trace of them.”

Aodhan explained that the Citadel was riddled with passages, including a number of escape tunnels that led several kilometers outside its walls. “Thanks to Archangel Suyin, we know where they are, so they’re monitored, but still…”

He didn’t need to say the rest of it. A place as big and ancient as the Citadel, staffed by too few people, still reeling from the trauma of Lijuan’s iron rule, wasn’t exactly leak-proof.

The vampire woman—Xiaoli, that was her name—hurried over to them.

“The security systems on one of the exit tunnels went down during the window when Nianzu was attacked,” she told Aodhan.

Manaia came after her, still scowling. “It’s just a blip. We had the exact same problem last month in a different location and it turned out to be rats nibbling on the cables—it’s probably the same thing this time. I already told Xiaoli I’d handle it.”

The angel Yasen spoke up. “If someone did get out that way, we can check it out faster by flying. I’ll go with you, Aodhan.” 

Fuck no. Yasen wasn’t going anywhere with Aodhan. Illium’s wings half-flared before he was even aware of it, but it was Aodhan who spoke.

“I want you to do another sweep of the Citadel,” he told Yasen, who faltered under the cool blue-green prism of his gaze. “Manaia, take a team down to check it out. Take Xiaoli with you. Illium and I will meet you at the exit point.”

***

“Is there some reason you don’t trust Manaia?” Illium asked when they were out of earshot.

Aodhan shook his head. “He wouldn’t be working for Archangel Suyin if I didn’t. But… he has a minor ability to mesmerise small creatures. Including rats.”

They flew out from the Citadel, driving up swiftly to get above the clouds. Illium knew why—Aodhan always preferred not to be seen as much as possible, hated the way his beauty lit up in the sunlight, drawing all eyes. 

Here, above the clouds, Illium was the only witness to the glittering, icy diamond of Aodhan’s wings and hair. He looked utterly magical with the vast white curls of the clouds creating their own landscape beneath them. 

A weight Illium had carried for the last three years eased. With just the two of them out here in the empty air, it was almost like old times, and he couldn’t resist teasing Aodhan, mock-divebombing him like a magpie.

_We have a job to do, remember?_

_Just trying not to get there an hour ahead of you, slowpoke._ He sent an image of a turtle with white wings.

Aodhan put on a burst of speed, darting up in front of him so that he was forced to backwing to avoid collision, losing his momentum in the process.

Aodhan shot past in a blur of sparkling white, laughter trailing behind him.

***

“Suck it, Sparkle!” he crowed as he landed, even though he’d won by the thinnest of margins. His chest heaved with exertion. He’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone challenge him. The Sire was still faster than him—he was an archangel, after all—but none of the other Seven apart from Aodhan could come close. 

Aodhan touched down a moment later, rolling his eyes. “You’re getting slow, Bluebell. Galen’s been soft on you.” 

The race had drained some of the weirdness between them away, which was good but also bad, because Illium didn’t want to pretend nothing had changed. He wanted more of that flash of hunger he’d seen on Aodhan’s face earlier, was prepared to push until he got it. 

But what if Aodhan wasn’t ready to be pushed? What if Illium broke him? He’d spent nearly half his life protecting Aodhan, and the desire to protect was almost stronger than the want. 

On the other hand, Aodhan _had_ shoved him into a wall out of sheer—lust? frustration?—something, so he couldn’t be feeling _that_ fragile.

They’d come down in what appeared to be an area of overgrown ruins, the jungle a riotous green, the air heavy with the promise of later rain. There was no sign yet of the tunnel investigation team.

“Where does the tunnel come out?”

“Over here.”

They scouted the area, but there were no tracks in the soft earth, even though it had rained yesterday—“It rains _every_ day at this time of year,” Aodhan said ruefully—and there were no signs of disturbance. Birds called raucously from the trees, and it felt like they were in the middle of nowhere, though they weren’t that far from the Citadel, geographically speaking.

They moved in concentric circles out from the exit, looking for anything. Aodhan was careful not to let any of the draping greenery brush him while they searched, Illium noted. More careful than he’d been about such things three years ago.

Eventually, they returned to the tunnel exit, with nothing to show for their efforts.

“Nothing came out this way recently,” Illium said for them both. “Or at least, nothing that couldn’t fly.”

“No.” Aodhan frowned at the exit.

Illium began to walk over to Aodhan, and the air between them changed. With every step, Aodhan grew tenser, until he was practically a living statue, unearthly and untouched by his surroundings. The most tempting thing Illium had ever seen. 

He stopped less than a wingspan away, and they stood side by side in charged silence. Aodhan remained rigid, so Illium did what he’d always done when his friend seemed in need of comfort but couldn’t ask for it—fanned out a wing so that it draped carefully over Aodhan’s back.

Aodhan gasped, and Illium hastily winched in his wing, worried he’d pushed too much. But when he met Aodhan’s startled gaze, his pupils were dilated, his mouth open to form a perfect O. Desire, not dismay. Primal, aggressive triumph rose, and Illium stretched his wing over Aodhan’s again. 

That was when the tunnel exploration team arrived, and Illium nearly screamed aloud in frustration before pulling his wing back in.

Xiaoli emerged first and did a double-take at the sight of Aodhan. Or rather, at the sight of Aodhan’s blue-dusted wings. She looked from Illium to Aodhan and back with open curiosity. 

Whoops. 

He hadn’t actually meant to do that, though he couldn’t deny he liked how it looked, Aodhan wearing his colors.

Manaia followed a moment later and did the same double-take, though his reaction was a scowl.

Aodhan held himself with absolute stillness, gazed steadily back at them. “Your report?” 

Maybe he hadn’t noticed Illium’s accidental dusting. Illium hadn’t done it on purpose, so it should just be color, not anything special. He hastily shoved that thought away, because the idea of brushing Aodhan with the aphrodisiac blend of angel dust was really not something he could think about right now. 

Xiaoli coughed. “Ah—yes. We couldn’t find any trace anyone had used the tunnel recently. Just some damaged wiring on the sensor. It could have been rats nibbling or deliberate sabotage—I can’t be certain. But in any case, I can replace the wiring easily enough.” 

Illium managed to drag his mind out of his pants. “If it was sabotaged, and the healers are right about it being a vampire responsible for the attack, could this be an intentional assault-and-burglary rather than a Reborn or a random Infected infestation?” 

Aodhan nodded, still cool and in command. “We need to figure out if anything was missing from that vault.” He wouldn’t meet Illium’s eyes.

They left the team to their repairs and flew back to the Citadel. Illium trailed Aodhan as he organized a stocktake of the vault, which would take some time given its half-unpacked contents and the fact that that’s what Nianzu had been trying to do there in the first place. He was still getting used to this new version of Aodhan who could manage a court in its archangel’s absence. Who wasn’t fragile, and didn’t need him.

Maybe that was why Aodhan had been giving such mixed signals. Maybe Illium’s reassurance that he didn’t plan to usurp Aodhan’s role here hadn’t been enough. 

They weren’t alone again until later in the afternoon, when Aodhan showed him the rooms that would be his for the duration of his time here. They were large and clean, and Illium promptly deposited the small amount of personal belongings he’d brought with him, though he hadn’t been feeling any strain from carrying them. 

On the far edge of the spacious room were intricately carved balcony doors—a standard feature for angel accommodation. The light shining through the windows was grey, the day’s thunderstorm getting closer to its opening act. 

When Aodhan would’ve left immediately, Illium reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey—”

Aodhan shied like a skittish horse from the touch.

“Sorry.” He took his hand back, frowning. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine.” Aodhan’s voice sounded strained, and he was still turned away from him. “Anyway, I need to—” He made for the door again, but Illium stopped him by the simple measure of stepping in front of him.

“Aodhan,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”


	3. Chapter 3

Aodhan stared at Illium in blank incredulity, struck with a desire to start laughing hysterically. Of course, Illium being Illium, he would choose this moment to start a deep and meaningful conversation, while Aodhan was being sensually tormented by his essence, the angel dust still working its way through his feathers, a rising tide of heat made of a thousand tiny pinpricks. 

He could taste Illium on the back of his tongue, the sapphire tang of him. Damn, damn, damn. He kept himself angled away, afraid Illium would see his reaction, and willed himself to think of blizzards and ice-cold showers. Illium had probably thought it was funny, dusting him like this, would never have anticipated the effect it would have. He mustn’t find out—Aodhan didn’t know if he could bear it. He took a deep breath, in and out, trying to center himself. 

He had no idea how he’d made it this far through the day, but at least he’d now given all the instructions he could think of to give. All he had to do now was excuse himself so he could go back to his rooms and… give himself some relief. He jerked his mind away from the fantasies threatening to form. No, no fantasies. He would simply soak the dust from Illium’s wings off his own, and get a handle on this want.

“I mean it,” Illium said, sounding uncharacteristically serious. “I meant to say—I’ve never doubted your ability to handle yourself, but I did treat you like you were fragile for way too long before you left. I’m sorry for that.”

Aodhan shook his head. “You were there for me when I needed it.” He held onto that grimly through the rising tide of arousal. Friendship, friendship, friendship. A friendship he refused to ruin.

Illium disagreed. “You survived something designed to break you; you held onto yourself and fought to put yourself back together piece by piece. That’s strength. I was the one who was fragile. The fear of losing you made me try to wrap you in cotton wool because it scared me so much. Thank god you were too smart to let me get away with that for too long.” 

The way Illium was looking at him, his eyes shining, made something painful clench in his chest. He didn’t deserve this faith. If he was stronger, he wouldn’t have had to run away to try to control his feelings, wouldn’t still yearn for something that he knew he couldn’t have.

His entire body felt like it was on fire with need. “I need to go shower.”

Illium grimaced. “Yeah, sorry about the dust.” He hesitated, and then smirked. “Unless you wanted more?” Despite the grin, he was watching Aodhan with strange intensity.

Aodhan’s heart slammed against his ribs, even as the heat continued to riot through him. He had to get out of this room; Illium’s presence was only making the sense-magnifying effect of the angel dust worse. A wild, desperate anger rose. He knew Illium meant no harm, was only being his usual light-hearted self, but he couldn’t handle it. 

“Don’t mess with me, Bluebell,” he growled. “I’m not in the mood for it.” He took a step towards the door, expecting Illium to get out of the way.

Illium didn’t move. He had his head cocked to the side as he watched Aodhan. They were too close now, inside each other’s personal space. 

“What if I wanted to mess with you?” Illium took half a step forward.

Aodhan made a strangled sound. They were so close—too close—their breaths mingling. Illium’s black eyelashes were tipped with blue. What was Illium doing? This close, Aodhan was aware of his scent, sweat and earth and feathers. It mingled with the feel of Illium’s essence burrowing its way under his wings, soaking through to his skin, hitting his bloodstream with potent arousal.

He waited for Illium to grow tired of this strange game of chicken or to do whatever it was he was planning to do. Something. Anything. All the time, the aphrodisiac pumping through his body, demanding release. 

Illium just watched him, so intensely Aodhan felt speared on that golden gaze as the fire in him flared higher and higher.

The thunderstorm began, rain slamming down into the stillness. Still Illium didn’t move. He wet his lips, and Aodhan genuinely wasn’t sure whether it was a sign of nervousness or a come-on.

Oh, fuck everything. 

He kissed him.

A spark of static, the shock of that contact, but he wanted it too badly to care. If he was risking everything that mattered—their friendship, his own sanity—he was going to take what he could from this moment. 

Illium almost sagged at the touch, as if some inner wire of tension had cut free, and Aodhan reeled back. Illium stopped him, a hand wrapped possessively around the back of his neck. The contact reverberated through him, Illium’s fingers pressing against his skin, preventing him from moving away.

Aodhan stared at him. “You want me,” he said, not daring to believe it.

Illium gave him an incredulous look. “I—what? Of course I want you, are you kidding me?”

“You want me,” Aodhan couldn’t help repeating, unsure if he was more addled by that or the hand on his neck.

“...yes?” The corner of Illium’s mouth started to curve. “I take it back; you are definitely not the smart one of the pair of us. You’re an idiot. Maybe we’re both idiots.”

Illium kissed him. It was just as electrifying on repeat, and it rapidly escalated from there, open-mouthed and fiercely possessive. One hand stayed curved around Aodhan’s neck, and the other snaked around his waist, holding firmly in the small of his back and tugging him closer. 

His coverts rubbed against Illium’s arm and he hissed, wanting simultaneously to roll away and lean into the touch. The sensations only grew stronger, more intense, and little warning fires lit behind his eyes as Illium kissed him hungrily. 

His head fell back, and Illium’s teeth grazed the skin at his neck, nipping at his pulse. Every inch of skin lit up, a symphony in time to the thunder in his blood. He was drunk on sensation, harder than he’d ever been. 

He rutted desperately as Illium claimed his mouth again, bringing their bodies flush. The movement brought the very core of him against Illium for a single, lightning-struck moment that took him so far past bearing that his knees gave out, dizzy with sensation.

He was aware of too many things at once: the silk of Illium’s feathers brushing his, the hot slide of his tongue, the firm pressure of his hands, the deafening drum of his heartbeat, the unabating ache of his cock, the white noise of the rainstorm thundering down. The sapphire tang of Illium’s essence pumping into his blood stream, excruciatingly pleasurable and rising with every second. 

He reeled away. “Fuck. _Fuck_.” Illium reached for him, but Aodhan shook his head, stumbling back. “I can’t. I can’t.” 

He wanted Illium so badly he was shaking with it. He was going to explode; his cock was so hard it hurt. Everything hurt, goosebumps all over his body feeling every stray air molecule. 

Illium canted his head, the gold of his irises swallowed by black. His lips were kiss-swollen, painted cadmium red, his golden skin flushed, the humidity curling the blue-black of his hair into tendrils. Aodhan helplessly stepped closer, moth to flame. The move jostled his own agonizing arousal.

He moaned, pain and pleasure so interwoven and overwhelming he could barely distinguish up from down. Wound too tight and yet not tight enough. Past bearing.

“Aodhan.” Predatory golden eyes locked onto his, staring straight to the roots of his soul. With glacial slowness, Illium took a step forward, reached down. 

Touched him. That was all it took.

He fractured. 

He came with a keening cry, sagging with the release, but everything was too loud, too hot, too sensitive, too painful, too much. He staggered back, holding out a hand to stop Illium when he would’ve followed.

“Aodhan?” Concern in Illium’s voice. 

“I’m—give me a moment.” He staggered to the balcony and threw open the doors. The rain was pouring down in heavy sheets, and he walked straight out into it. The cold shocked him back to himself. He threw out his wings and stood there, letting it wash over him, soaking his hair and feathers, running in cool rivulets down his overheated skin. The world narrowed to only the grey of the rain, cocooning the building. He closed his eyes, lifting his head directly into the downpour.

For a moment he’d thought… but now it felt as if a chasm had opened between them. This might be his only chance and here it was, being cruelly taken from him just as so many things had already been taken from him. Hadn’t he lost enough, lost both sanity and centuries to that long-ago breaking of self? How long would Illium’s interest hold when Aodhan was like this?

Illium’s mortal lover would never have been anything like this difficult. His thoughts shied away from that, too painful a truth to look at now, with his body still shivering violently.

“I’m sorry if that was too much,” Illium said from somewhere behind him. 

“No. I wanted it.” His body might still be vibrating with overstimulation, but he didn’t regret a second of it. He only regretted that he hadn’t been able to take more, to have all that Illium was willing to give. His voice roughened. “Are you—”

A dark chuckle. “I mean, I would love your hands on me, but I can take care of myself, Sparkle.” The sound of a belt buckle being undone.

Aodhan shivered. He knew if he turned he would see the erection he’d felt against his own body now in Illium’s hand. 

“Look at me, Aodhan.”

He turned. Illium captured his gaze, held him pinned as he unbuttoned himself. 

Aodhan felt dizzy just with watching. He tried to fix the visual in his mind for later study: Illium in rich oils. For his wings: cerulean and ultramarine blue with hints of violet. Sapphire-dipped ink for the hair spilling over his shoulders. Flecks of metallic gold burning in his eyes. The play of light on Illium's hands: lightened shades of yellow ochre and raw sienna, shading scarlet as the head of his cock sprang free. 

He could feel Illium’s essence still rising in his blood stream, sending rippling shocks of agonized pleasure through him, as if Illium’s hands were touching his own skin. It set him vibrating to a higher frequency, hardening with arousal once again. Every nerve ending aflame. Sensations clashed and echoed and intensified, until he could feel his mind splintering. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Aodhan?”

“I’m sorry,” he stuttered, mouth dry. “It’s too much. I can’t come down with you here. Not when I’m still covered in your angel dust. I have to go.” 

“Damn. I really didn’t mean to do that to you, you know.” Illium made an unhappy sound. “What I wouldn’t give to be able to touch you right now.”

What Aodhan wouldn’t give also.

***

Illium stood there after Aodhan had fled, fighting warring impulses. He wanted to make sure Aodhan was okay, but Aodhan had implied that the only thing Illium’s presence could do right now was make him less okay. 

He was also crazily turned on. He’d never thought any of his fantasies about Aodhan might actually happen. Tonight had been the single most erotic experience in a lifetime not exactly short on eroticism, and they’d both been fully clothed. He hadn’t even come.

He took care of that. It was much less fun alone. Fuck, Aodhan’s expression as he’d released, shakingly vulnerable. The _sound_ he’d made. What Illium wouldn’t give to hear that again—to have more than that, to have a willing Aodhan under him. 

He came with a grunt, glaring at the rainstorm, which eased off at that moment as suddenly as it had begun. Water streamed off the roof, dripping noisily into a thousand puddles.

The air still held a faint hint of sex. Had he escalated things too soon between them? Maybe they should have… talked? Aodhan had said he didn’t regret it, but did that mean he would be open to doing it again? Doing more? Or would he try to pretend it hadn’t happened, hadn’t changed anything between them? Aodhan had always had a tendency to hide from his vulnerabilities—but maybe tonight proved he didn’t know his friend nearly as well as he’d assumed.

Well, _Illium_ wasn’t going to let him hide. Aodhan had hidden for two centuries, buried this side of himself so deeply that Illium had never suspected it ever existed. No more hiding, for either of them, not when who knew how long they still had together before he lost Aodhan forever.

He shivered and felt his way out to the edges of his power, measuring it, reassuring himself of its limits. Not that anyone could become an archangel without noticing, but it comforted him to check. There were supposed to be at least five centuries between him and that role, if it _was_ coming for him, but who knew whether the Cascade had messed up that timeline? 

He found the boundaries of himself and exhaled. Still just an angel. He still had time.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day found Aodhan in the training ring before dawn. Yesterday’s storm—both literal and metaphorical—had passed, but he still felt raw and off-balance, as if he were caught in turbulent winds above the sea, unable to find land.

Which was not a helpful feeling to be having while someone was trying to stick a blade in you. Aodhan ducked as his distraction gave Manaia an opening. Thank goodness that even half-distracted, Aodhan was still faster. More experienced in combat.

He had to work harder for victory now than he had a year ago, though; this was the thanks you got for training people up. This morning it felt like Manaia really was trying to kill him, his attacks holding an angry edge. It made him dangerous but also careless. Aodhan focused, waiting for his chance, patiently letting the vampire work his temper until his frustration got the better of him.

There—he disarmed him with a neat flick of the blade, a beat of his wings taking him out of range in the next moment.

“You telegraph your next move more than usual when you’re angry,” he said. “Why are you so pissy this morning, anyway?”

Manaia scowled at him. “You and your boyfriend don’t belong here. You belong to another archangel.”

“You belonged to Archangel Astaad before you came here,” Aodhan pointed out, ignoring the boyfriend remark. Illium wasn’t that, but that also wasn’t really the point here. 

Manaia shook his head, a fierce, sharp negative. “No. I _lived_ in Astaad’s territory. I serve Archangel Suyin now and forever.”

Oh, to be that young and sure again. “Archangel Suyin has my loyalty.”

“Yeah, but you’re not really hers.”

“No, I’m not,” he agreed, which had the benefit of surprising Manaia out of his scowl. Aodhan sheathed both his swords. “Why do you think I spend so much time training you and the others? I serve Archangel Suyin now, but when I return to New York, she deserves people she can trust to be competent.” Manaia would one day be a power to be reckoned with in his own right, but he needed time and training to grow into it. 

Manaia just gave an angry huff and stalked out. 

Illium crossed paths with him on his way out. Aodhan was aware as soon as he crossed the threshold, every feather attuned to his presence. 

For a moment, he felt like a lovesick youth. He’d wanted Illium for so long that it didn’t seem real that, yes, yesterday had actually happened and wasn’t simply an invention of his fevered imagination. Shame and anxiety rose at the memory of how he’d left Illium—in a state of unfulfilled sexual frustration, after demonstrating exactly how broken he still was. Not his finest moment, and probably not something Illium would want to repeat.

The problem with being near-immortal was that there was so much time in which to contemplate consequences. Maybe Illium would want to pretend yesterday hadn’t happened. Maybe they should both pretend that, brush it off as just one of those things. They’d survived more awkward moments in their centuries of friendship, surely? Though he struggled to think of any at this precise moment.

“I overheard the last bit of that,” Illium said. “Can’t blame a guy for being loyal to his archangel.” He looked oddly wistful. “Assuming he’s not helping vampiric burglars to undermine you.”

“Assuming not.” Aodhan was pretty sure Manaia wouldn’t do that. For one thing, Manaia had liked Nianzu, had no reason to want the old angel injured.

Illium made a noncommittal noise as he drew closer. Aodhan’s pulse kicked up a notch. He was no longer dancing the knife edge of overstimulation, the angel dust washed from his system, but his body still reacted so strongly to Illium, he knew it wouldn’t take much to return to that state. Desire and shame made for a dizzying cocktail. 

Were they going to pretend last night hadn’t happened? He half-wanted that, to erase the memory of his failures, to return to the known territory of simple friendship. Illium had wanted him last night, but maybe the vivid demonstration of how utterly fucked up Aodhan was had made him re-think things.

Maybe _Aodhan_ should re-think things. This wasn’t sensible, could only hurt them both when it ultimately ended. Because Illium had had innumerable lovers through the years—but his heart wasn’t so casual. In all the time Aodhan had known him, Illium had had exactly _one_ romantic love despite his vast erotic experience, and she couldn’t have been less like Aodhan. 

But when Illium came up to him without hesitation and asked, “Can I kiss you?”, all Aodhan could do was nod. No self-preservation instincts.

The kiss was soft and sweet, languid in a way that was wholly different from yesterday’s urgency. Careful. The consideration undid him even as he chafed at it. He didn’t want Illium to be careful. He leaned into the touch recklessly, reaching for Illium just as he stepped away with a wicked grin.

“Time for canoodling later. Galen would never forgive me if I let myself slack off practicing.”

Aodhan glared at him, a roil of frustration. “You should practice your dodging reflexes.”

“Any reason you feel the need to throw pointy things at me, Sparkle?” Illium asked, batting his eyelashes. Aodhan went to pick out knives, and Illium threw back his head and laughed delightedly.

Sexual frustration aside, it was fun. They fell back into their old rhythm easily. How many times had they played this game? Illium was fiendishly quick, but Aodhan could still make him sweat. He sent a rapid shower of blades, managed to catch the edge of a feather as Illium back-winged with the agility of his mother’s namesake. The thin shorn fragment floated down, sparkling sapphire. Aodhan caught it out of the air.

Illium landed neatly beside him. “Not much of a trophy.” Without hesitation he plucked at a feather that was coming loose and handed it to him. “Here’s a better one.”

Aodhan’s fingers closed involuntarily around the soft feather, his throat suddenly thick. This wasn’t a casual gesture.

But then, that wasn’t Illium, was it? Illium wasn’t casual, not with anyone who mattered to him, and Aodhan didn’t doubt their friendship. He’d always known that he mattered to Illium, if not quite in the ways he hungered for. The problem was Illium’s determination to shield those he cared for. 

Illium had always preferred gentle, submissive partners—people he could adore and protect. Yin and yang. Illium’s mortal lover had been one such. Where Aodhan was reserved, always on the edges of things, she had been animated, the bright chattering center of conversation. She’d probably exchanged more words with Illium in their brief time together than Aodhan had in centuries of friendship. She’d seemed content—no, more than that, _happy_ —to stand within the protective circle of Illium’s wings. 

If he’d been only Aodhan the artist, perhaps… but he was a warrior, down to his bedrock. He’d let Illium shield him for a long time, in the worst of the After, but he could not return there. It would break what remained of his shattered soul. It had been true when he’d left Raphael’s territory, and it was just as true now.

“My turn,” he said softly, handing Illium a throwing knife.

Training had always been the one place where they’d stood on equal ground. Aodhan hadn’t earnt his place among the Seven for his skill with a paintbrush. But would yesterday change their dynamic? 

Illium took the knife without hesitation. “All right.”

A knot of tension eased.

Aodhan couldn’t count the number of times he’d wished away his damned sparkly feathers—probably at least once for every time someone got moon-eyed over them, which so far added up to a boatload the size of a modern container ship. But his wings had one small benefit that occasionally made them worth it.

“Gah!” Illium winced as refracted light dazzled directly into his eyes, throwing off his aim. The knife clattered into the wall instead of Aodhan. “Weaponized dazzle strikes again. I should’ve nicknamed you Discoball.”

Aodhan managed to direct sunlight straight at Illium’s eyes again.

Illium swore and danced across the training room.

It was tricky to aim the light from your own feathers, but Aodhan had had a lot of practice in this specific training space. To counter, Illium had played this game with him a lot, and had lightning-fast reflexes besides. Aodhan dodged and sparkled as Illium threw, exhilarated with the aerial acrobatics, challenged in a way he’d been missing for the last few years.

Illium somehow managed to get multiple knives into the air at the same time; Aodhan dodged all but the last, which sank into his wing with a painful thunk. 

“Gotcha,” Illium said smugly.

A glow of happiness lit him up from the inside, because Illium wasn’t treating him with kid gloves. He landed beside him, pulled out the knife, and pulled Illium into an embrace, the contact mingling pleasurably with the endorphins.

Illium’s eyes darkened. “If I’d known throwing knives at you was going to make you so happy, I would’ve opened with that.” He put a hand gently beside the wound, where skin and muscle was already knitting itself back together.

Aodhan kissed him again, greedy for touch. When they broke apart, he was humming, though it felt less like holding a livewire than yesterday. Hope stirred. Maybe he _would_ be able to overcome this damn touch sensitivity.

Heat in those golden eyes, but leashed. “Do you know what makes it too much? Is it better if you’re expecting it? You seem less on edge today. Was it just my angel dust that made it worse?”

Aodhan tried to find words. He’d told the healers some of this, back during those slow years of healing at the Medica, after he’d begun to reconstruct his shattered self, but he’d never spoken of it with Illium. Hadn’t been able to bring himself to, even though Illium likely already knew most of it. How could he not? He’d watched over Aodhan’s years of healing with all the intensity of a nesting mother to her one chick. But by not speaking of it, Aodhan had been able to pretend that perhaps Illium hadn’t seen the full extent of his weakness. But that was two hundred years in the past now, the faultlines in his soul no longer as raw. 

It still felt like dragging up rocks, each word coming painfully.

“When I was”—he paused, made himself shape the word—“tortured… for a long time all touch meant pain. One became the other. It... recalibrated my mind, made me unable to distinguish the two.”

“But it isn’t like that now.” Illium looked stricken. “It isn’t, is it? You’re sensitive, but it’s not pain. Please tell me it’s not.”

“No. The Medica helped me a great deal.” The healers had understood him, hadn’t judged him. “So did you and Galen.” Illium had drowned him in art supplies until he’d been forced to pick up a brush or suffocate under the weight of them. Galen had dragged him back to weapons training, forced him to reconnect with his body, careful never to touch him while he fought to regain his old skills. 

“But even when touch stopped meaning automatic pain, there was still a lag where my mind had to sort out what it _did_ mean. It was easy to get overwhelmed, and when that happened my mind would revert back to its old pathway. So… I avoided touch where I could, kept it to small, manageable doses where I couldn’t. I thought perhaps with enough time, the issue would resolve itself. I thought it was getting better.” Progress had been agonizingly slow, but he _had_ been getting used to more touch, before he’d come here. 

Illium was frowning. “That’s what I thought too. But you were less sensitive in New York than you are now.”

Aodhan shrugged.

“You haven’t been letting anyone touch you the whole time you’ve been here, haven’t you? And that’s been making it worse.” A statement rather than a question. “Sparkle, you are so damn bad at looking after yourself sometimes.”

Aodhan tensed. “I don’t need looking after.”

“No, you need knocking sense into,” Illium agreed. “How can I help?”

“Touch me and remind me that it’s good until I know that in my bones,” he said, and then immediately regretted his honesty. Because if Illium was anything, he was stubborn. He didn’t give up. If Aodhan said he needed Illium’s constant touching to heal, Illium would keep doing that even after his own interest waned. The thought of Illium touching him out of duty rather than desire… He wanted Illium to _want_ to touch him even more than the touch itself.

“I will become your own personal octopus,” Illium promised, spreading his arms wide. “Species _Snugglepus Illiumus_ incoming.”

Aodhan snorted. “You mean _Bluebellius Riddiculi_?”

Illium embraced him again, and it wasn’t so much a lightning strike as a gentle wave this time. 

“It’s okay that you’re terrible at Latin,” Illium consoled him. “You have many other sterling qualities. For one, you smell fantastic.” He nuzzled against Aodhan’s neck, his breath tickling the skin into shivering goosebumps, intense but good. 

_This_ was so damn good, a goodness he thought he’d never have. He held still in the circle of Illium’s arms for as long as he could as Illium kissed up the line of his neck.

The moment broke. He stepped back, gasping, dizzy with desire.

Illium looked speculative. “Maybe we should set a timer? Hugging Records To Beat? You always did have a competitive streak.”

Aodhan gave a weak laugh, still trembling, caught halfway between the need to beg Illium to make him senseless with need here, now, on the training room floor, and the knowledge that he wasn’t strong enough to bear that much touch without shattering.

“Sir!”

With a stifled groan, Aodhan turned to find Yasen staring at the pair of them from the entrance to the training room. 

“Yes?”

“I—thought you might want a sparring partner this morning.”

“He’s got one.” Illium had gone deadly, voice glacier-cold, one wing half-spreading to shield Aodhan from view. A chill went through him. Was this where it started?

Yasen didn’t move, looked straight past Illium at Aodhan. “I thought you might like a workout from someone more experienced.” Yasen was nearly a thousand years old. 

Illium growled, actually growled, and Aodhan put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m fine, Yasen,” he said flatly. “You can go.”

Yasen gave Illium a narrow-eyed look, but he went. “Well, if you change your mind…”

When he’d gone, Aodhan turned to Illium. “What was tha—mmf”

The rest of his objection got cut off, because Illium had hauled him into a kiss so fiercely possessive it short-circuited his brain and left him hard and aching and on the verge of whiting out by the time they broke apart.

“Wha—” He swallowed, tried to find syllables again. Closed his eyes to cut down on the visual stimulus of Illium looking at him like that. “I told you I could handle Yasen.” Though he felt far less annoyed about Illium’s possessiveness than he had two minutes ago. In fact, quite a large part of him wondered how to provoke it again.

“Oh, I know you can handle him,” Illium said, completely unrepentant. “I was just staking a claim. That was nearly two minutes full contact, by the way. Shall we go try to find our vampire burglar-slash-Infected zombie, or do you want to throw some more knives at me first?”

Aodhan opened his eyes just so he could glare.


	5. Chapter 5

Later that day, Illium stood beside Aodhan in the vault, examining a crate that should have been full, according to the tentative stocktake results. The exact nature of its missing contents remained unknown, except that it had been something art-flavored. Lijuan had apparently been an incredibly spotty record-keeper.

The empty crate was a long, narrow rectangle, about six feet by four, and the nails that had once held it closed had been prized free. They’d found the loose nails nearby, but whether it had been Nianzu or his attacker who’d opened it remained unclear. There were multiple faint imprints on the crate’s insides, from the weight of whatever it had held. 

“Had to be something heavy like stone or ceramics, to leave marks, right? As opposed to say, scrolls or paintings?”

Aodhan made an absent sound of agreement.

Illium snuck a look at him, casually placed a hand on his shoulder. Aodhan started, then leaned into the touch. So far Illium’s gradually escalating war of touch acclimation was going great. The only downside was that it was also driving him slowly insane with sexual frustration. He could only hope it was having a similar effect on Aodhan.

“Why this specific artwork—or artworks?” he wondered aloud, looking around at the rest of the vault overflowing with unpacked treasures.

“There’s been a lot of black-market activity since Lijuan’s death. She collected many artworks in her lifetime, stored across all her palaces as well as the Citadel. Only a fool would have stolen from her while she was alive, but now that she’s dead…”

Illium gave a low whistle. “Nine thousand years’ worth of treasure hoarding to guard. Wonder what made this one worth attacking an angel in order to take it?”

“Xiaoli’s family has connections to the art world. I will ask her to see if she has heard any whispers.”

Illium raised his eyebrows. “She also has access to the Citadel security system.”

“She isn’t Infected, and our vampire burglar was.”

“Or they brought something with them that was,” Illium pointed out, thinking of that demon rat. 

“Xiaoli can’t manifest animal claws. But more importantly, I trust her.”

Aodhan wasn’t naïve, didn’t trust easily. Illium sighed. “Back to square one then.”

“You’re not going to argue with me?” A note of surprise in Aodhan’s voice.

“If you say she’s trustworthy, I trust your judgement.” 

One of Aodhan’s rare smiles—that made two such miracles in one day. Heart flipping over, he found himself pulling Aodhan in for a kiss. 

There was no rush, he told himself. Plenty of time to find the shape of this new thing between them. Urgency still kicked at him, like a man dying of thirst trying to drink a glass of water one drop at a time. Take advantage of every moment, his instincts said, because you never knew when the moment would end, when you’d be left alone and bereft. Because everyone left, sooner or later. His father, gone to Sleep when he was still a child. His mother, loving but still lost in her own world for centuries. His first love, long since turned to dust. And, eventually, he would lose Aodhan too. 

He couldn't stop himself stretching to the edges of his power again, but he used the reassurance of finding his limits still where they were supposed to be to push down the fierce possessiveness. Step away. Keep things light when everything in him screamed to do the opposite. Aodhan needed him to be careful, so careful he would be.

***

Could you die of sexual frustration? Aodhan was fairly sure he was going to find out. His whole body whined, on edge with want, as Illium released him.

“All right?” Illium asked, but his eyes glittered with wickedness.

Aodhan gave him a flat look. “I am going to throw so many knives at you next time we train, Bluebell.”

Illium grinned. “Kinky.”

They left the vault. 

Aodhan set Xiaoli loose searching her networks. Nianzu was still unconscious, so failing any further immediate leads, the schedule of the Citadel returned to relative normality. 

Through it all, Illium kept touching him. Fleeting contacts, none of them inappropriate in company—a wing brushing against his; a hand on his arm—but each one made embers flare in his chest. The men and women he worked with noticed—they were too highly trained not to—but if anything, it only seemed to put them more at ease, as if Illium was transferring bits of his charisma with each touch. 

The people here respected him, Aodhan knew; they’d fought together, rebuilt together, shed blood together. But even Before, he’d never been the sort of man who could effortlessly charm a room. Illium, however, had been in the Citadel for less than two days and the other members of the team were already treating him as a long-lost brother-in-arms. 

Well, except Yasen, but Aodhan rearranged schedules to keep the two apart. 

Illium excused himself at the end of the shift, his expression apologetic. “I promised I’d contact my mother, if there’s nothing else...”

“Give her my love.” 

A strange expression crossed Illium’s face for a moment, but he only nodded. “I will,” he said before slipping away.

Aodhan tried not to feel hurt that Illium hadn’t invited him along to the call. The Hummingbird might be almost a second mother to Aodhan, but it was reasonable for exactly that reason that Illium might not want Sharine to know about the change between them, and she was too perceptive to miss it if she saw them together. 

***

An hour later, Aodhan was on his way back to his office when he heard the sounds of fighting.

In the direction of Illium’s room.

He moved so fast his wings and his heartbeat merged, but when he landed, double swords in hand, Illium had already dealt with the horde of enormous Infected rats outside his door, was already moving towards the rest. Because Illium wasn’t alone. Xiaoli was backed into a corner a little way down the hall, her blade flashing as the oversized creatures leapt and clawed.

Illium’s knife whirred through the air and pinned one Infected’s tail to the floor. Aodhan was there a heartbeat later to follow up, beheading it in one fast strike. Together, they took care of the rest, in tune in a way they only were in battle, one creature with two bodies moving in sync, thoughts flying too fast to verbalize.

Xiaoli’s eyes met his for a second before they rolled back in her head. He caught her just as she collapsed with a groan. Blood stained her clothing from multiple bites, and the skin around the wounds began turning black. Horror filled him.

“Give her to me.”

Illium was faster, so Aodhan didn’t argue. What if seconds made the difference between life and death? Xiaoli wasn’t an old angel like Nianzu, didn’t have the same resistance or healing capacity. And unlike Nianzu, anshara wasn’t an option.

Illium disappeared, a blue blur with Xiaoli in his arms. When Aodhan reached the infirmary shortly after him, the healers had already begun working. Xiaoli looked so much smaller than normal, a husk of her usual vibrant self, black veins of toxin staining her normally light brown skin. Guilt assailed him. He should have searched the Citadel more thoroughly after the last attack. He’d assumed that single Infected rat attacking Illium had been a one-off, but clearly there’d been a whole nest. How had they missed that?

Illium was already rolling up his sleeve to offer blood to the healers to help them flush out the toxins. “Unless you’ve got anyone more potent on-hand who can donate?”

The healer looked to Aodhan, who shook his head, gratitude mingling with guilt. “Illium’s blood will be the most potent of any angel currently within the Citadel.” Yasen was older, but though age conferred power, it wasn’t always the same thing.

The healer thanked Illium. “I don’t think it will cure her,” he admitted. “But it will help hold her until Archangel Suyin returns. She can cure the toxin from Infected creatures.” He looked to Aodhan again, a question there.

Aodhan closed his eyes briefly, the memory of Xiaoli’s pained eyes rising. “It may take Archangel Suyin several days to return. Can Xiaoli last that long?”

The healer nodded, grim determination there. “We will make sure she does. She has a strong will.” 

Illium stretched a wing over his, light but possessive. “We will find the cause of this,” he murmured. Aodhan sucked in a breath at the contact, but spread his own feathers in welcome. He could almost imagine the sands hissing behind his eyes as the moment of connection stretched, the bottom half of a timer slowly filling. He held out until the static in his mind was a roar, then shivered and tucked his wings back neatly.

They left the infirmary to return to the site of the attack by unspoken agreement. Illium systematically destroyed the bodies with bursts of power. 

“I came out when I heard them attack her,” Illium said grimly between flashes of blue energy. “What was she doing in this part of the Citadel?”

“It’s en route between the tech den and my office. Perhaps she found something and was coming to tell me.”

Illium had shed his usual careless demeanor, become as focused as a blade. “Is this many rats in a week a normal number of Infected?” 

Aodhan looked down at the scorch marks that had until recently been the corpses of Infected rats. “Not these days. I was prepared to think the one yesterday was an isolated incident, but this many, attacking en masse, means there’s a new source of infection inside the Citadel.”

“Where was your rat-whisperer earlier today? We need to talk to him.” Illium’s voice was that of a commander taking reports, preparing to issue directives. Perhaps this was where the dynamic between them shifted back to its old place. A hollow feeling lodged under his breastbone. 

He swallowed. “Yes. After I’ve contacted Archangel Suyin.”


	6. Chapter 6

Aodhan contacted Suyin. The situation with the vampires in the southern part of her territory was still volatile. “But I refuse to lose Xiaoli,” Suyin said grimly, speaking from a high-rise in the city of Nanning. There were deep circles under her eyes. “I’ll be at the Citadel by first light tomorrow.” Only an archangel could fly so far so fast.

By his side, Illium still bristled with intensity, all his deepest protective instincts clearly triggered by the recent fight and Xiaoli's injuries. Aodhan kept waiting for the moment he turned that protectiveness onto him, but Illium didn't say anything as they went to find Manaia.

They found the vampire on his knees in the armory, surrounded by his own personal army of rats. Entirely normal rats. Hundreds of whiskery noses wobbled as Manaia murmured to them, their little furred ears twitching as if straining to hear a priest speak words of wisdom.

 _Well, that’s not suspicious at all_ , Illium’s mental voice observed. “Cute Pied Piper routine,” he said aloud.

Manaia looked up, startled. Worry had traced lines into the vampire’s otherwise flawless skin. “I heard what happened to Xiaoli,” he said, “but I can’t figure out where the Infected ones came from. I thought we’d already cleansed all the nests.”

“How far away can you control them from?” Illium asked, stepping closer, his voice menacing. The rats nearest him scattered in a wave of squeaking fur, startling the rest of the mob, until every single rat was fleeing in all directions, disappearing into the shadows in a matter of seconds. Illium stopped dead, looking so sheepish Aodhan would’ve laughed in other circumstances.

Manaia scowled. “I can’t fucking _control_ them, just make them sort of… dopey and curious. If you startle them, they’re going to run away like they just did.”

Aodhan rubbed at his head. “You can sense when they’re nearby though, can’t you?”

Manaia nodded.

“Good. Come and make yourself useful then.”

He led another sweep of the Citadel, even more thorough than the first. Illium followed without question, and beneath his worry, some part of him burned bright.

They found more Infected creatures the more they searched. The highest concentration was on the lower levels, nearest the vault where Nianzu had been attacked. Manaia’s ability to tell whether rats were nearby made him a useful lure for drawing out Infected, because they had a tendency to attack any living creature they encountered. For trained warriors prepared for them, they weren’t difficult to dispatch, the main danger the need to avoid being bitten.

“How did the infection spread so fast without us noticing? And where did it fucking come from in the first place?” Manaia wondered aloud, prodding at one of the latest batch of dead Infected they’d found. “All of these are freshly bitten.”

Any suspicions Aodhan had harbored about the vampire had disappeared over the course of the day, watching Manaia push himself to the point of exhaustion using his abilities. He eventually had to order a grey-tinged Manaia to rest, pointing out, “You’ll be no use to Archangel Suyin if you burn yourself out.” 

He and Illium kept searching alongside the other teams, clearing out more Infected as they found them. Manaia was right; there shouldn’t have been time for the infection to spread so widely—unless something with more intelligence than demon rats was responsible for deliberately infecting so many new hosts. 

“Our Infected vampire is still in the building, spreading the fun far and wide, aren’t they?” Illium said, echoing Aodhan’s grim thoughts.

“So this is not just a matter of simple art theft.” Though Aodhan couldn’t make the pieces fit.

If the vampire was still in the Citadel, Aodhan was determined to find them. They scoured the great maze of buildings. Mostly they found nothing, interspersed with occasional nests of Infected rats. But as the search drew on into the night, there was no sign of larger prey, and Aodhan wound tighter and tighter, even as exhaustion began to scratch at him. The day shift changed to night, but he couldn’t leave this to others, not when it was his fault for not looking hard enough the first time.

He was about to begin another fruitless going-over of the same ground when he was forced to pull up short. It was either that or walk straight into Illium, who’d planted himself firmly in Aodhan’s path.

Eyes of beaten gold, hard. “Aodhan, stop. You’ve done all you can do for now.”

Aodhan stiffened. “You said you’d follow my lead here.”

“Doesn’t mean I stay quiet when you’re being an arse.”

“I keep feeling like I’m missing something.”

“Well, you’re not going to find it this way. Tired men make mistakes, and I’m not watching you get bitten by a mutant rodent just because you think you need to personally pace the Citadel non-stop until Archangel Suyin returns. The place is locked up tight. Let the nightwatch do their jobs and tell you if anything changes.”

As an argument it was… irritatingly reasonable, but what cinched it were Illium’s next words, the open plea in his eyes: “Come to bed?”

***

They didn’t discuss it, but somehow they ended up in Aodhan's rooms, and that level of intimacy strung him as tight as a fiddle. He had to fight the urge to rush ahead of Illium and cover up all signs of just how deep his vulnerability went. And yet—part of him wanted Illium to see, to shy from him now rather than later. The longer this went on, the worse it was going to hurt when it ended.

He swallowed as Illium padded over to study his finished works, nerves stretching. 

“The War of Life and Death,” Illium murmured, taking in the paintings of the battle above New York, the juxtaposition of dark and light, the vivid slashes of archangelic power against the skyscrapers. “You always did like to work out your demons on canvas. They capture the nightmare well.” He shivered, his wings pulling closer to his spine, and turned away. 

Aodhan almost thought he’d escaped, that Illium hadn’t spotted his more recent work but— 

“Oh.” Illium let out a small breath of surprise, pulling to a halt in front of the half-finished painting next to an open sketchbook. He studied the incomplete portrait for a while before flicking through the rest of the sketchbook. There were… a lot of drawings, Aodhan knew. He stared down at the rug, heat rising in his cheeks.

After a while he risked looking up, into a gaze of pure, predatory gold. “These better not be a commission, Sparkle.” Illium’s voice had gone deep as midnight.

“No!” The idea of this version of Illium belonging to anyone else, not just his beauty but all of Aodhan’s longing laid bare for the world to see… No. “It’s a… personal project.”

“Good.” A mischievous, wicked smile. “Means you’ll have something to wank off to even when I’m not here.”

Aodhan choked at that, even as his heart twisted at Illium implying this thing wouldn’t last. He knew that, but it still hurt to be reminded.

“Come here,” Illium ordered, and Aodhan did, jittery with conflicting emotion. The day had been full of so many small touches, but he wasn’t overwhelmed so much as raw now, as if each touch had worn away a piece of his shell. Erotic images from last night flickered through his mind, and part of him wanted a repeat, while another part shied from that. 

“You’re tense as a cat on a hot tin roof.” Illium pushed him down onto the bed and began to knead his shoulder muscles with smooth, ruthless efficiency.

It was electrifying—and embarrassing. Aodhan let out a moan. “That feels so good.”

A deep chuckle. “That’s the idea.”

His bones were liquefying, surrounded by warmth. He kept expecting Illium’s hands to stray, but they kept to his shoulders and the upper muscles of his wings. A regular, predictable rhythm that was oddly soothing despite the intensity of the sensation. It was nice—more than nice. Part of him wanted more, wanted to dive again into that place of clawing, jagged need, but the other part was so tired, anxious with worrying about Xiaoli and the source of the Infected. 

“You do know that given the choice between sleeping with you and sex, both are great options. I mean, I’m not a saint. No sex ever would suck. But I’d also love to sleep with you.” 

Illium’s honesty made him laugh. “I would like that too,” Aodhan whispered. “Both, I mean. But I don’t know if I can do either.” Hard to expose how deep his scars went. 

_What are we doing_ , he wanted to ask, but didn’t. Asking felt like it would puncture the bubble of peace forming under Illium’s skilled fingers.

A rustle of feathers as Illium shrugged. “That’s okay too.” His hands didn’t pause, finding a knot and digging into it with a pleasure-pain goodness that made Aodhan gasp. 

He hadn’t thought he’d be able to relax, not when every touch still stirred him like cross currents in a storm. Sleep hadn’t come easily to him in several centuries, and when it did his dreams were always haunted. But Illium’s hands fell like gentle rain, melding into a white noise that was more calming than mere silence. He lost track of the hiss of the hourglass counting up seconds of contact, the world becoming fuzzy and blurred at the edges.

He slept.

And for the first time in centuries, he didn’t dream.


	7. Chapter 7

Illium woke to a miracle, his wings draped over Aodhan’s, their bodies facing each other, their legs tangled. Aodhan was still asleep, and it was still dark outside. Aodhan’s long eyelashes lay in a tracery of palest frost against the alabaster of his cheeks. Illium hardly dared breathe, wanting to stretch the moment as long as possible, but finally he gave in to the desire to touch. 

The strands of Aodhan’s ice-white hair were soft as down against his fingertips, despite their crushed-diamond appearance. Aodhan didn’t stir except to sigh softly. Aodhan always kept his hair cropped short and unfashionable, as if that would somehow minimize his beauty, but Illium didn’t think he’d ever seen anything sexier than the way it was now, mussed into disordered tufts. 

Aodhan looked softer in sleep, all his hardest edges and defensiveness smoothed away. It was the most relaxed Illium had seen his friend in centuries, displaying a level of trust he hadn’t believed Aodhan would ever be capable of again. It made his heart ache. Fuck, he’d only had a taste of this and already he couldn’t imagine life without it. 

Pale eyelashes fluttered open, revealing eyes of shattered blue and green refractions, and he was drowning in the clear depths of a mountain lake. Aodhan smiled, a pure unadulterated joy shining in those incredible eyes. 

Then Aodhan sucked in a breath, as if awareness of all the ways and places they were touching had flooded him all at once. Right. Illium needed to find some willpower again. For Aodhan. He reluctantly went to withdraw his wing, but Aodhan surprised him. “No, don’t.” He put a hand to Illium’s wings, ducked his head as if in embarrassment. 

“It’s not too much?”

“It’s… exactly right. Like waking up in a sunbeam.” 

“You’re welcome, then.”

Aodhan laughed, and the sound made the ache in his chest deepen. When had he last heard Aodhan laugh like that, like he was uncomplicatedly _happy_?

“I want to tell my mother about us.” The words spilled out before he could stop them.

Aodhan stilled.

“—but we don’t have to,” he added quickly. He knew his mother would be delighted, but telling her also felt a bit like blackmail for the same reason—she’d be sad if it then didn’t work out, and he knew Aodhan cared about Sharine’s happiness as much as he did. Using Aodhan’s affection for his mother against him was playing dirty, but on the other hand if it gave him another reason to stay… 

Aodhan’s lips curved. “I wonder if she’ll tell me to be careful with her baby boy?”

He snorted. “More likely the opposite. You know she’s always thought you were the good influence and I the corrupting one. But you’re okay with her knowing?” He wasn’t sure he could actually hide this from his mother, who’d already known something was up when they’d spoken yesterday, had wanted to know why Aodhan hadn’t been there with him.

Aodhan cocked his head. “Yes.” He hesitated. “You’re sure it won’t…” 

Illium shook his head, knowing what Aodhan meant without him spelling it out. For centuries, the Hummingbird’s grasp on the world had been a fragile thing, and neither of them wanted to be the reason her mind shattered again. “It won’t. She’s not… fragile anymore. She’s strong again, like she was before, when we were boys.” Before his father had left.

***

There was an odd melancholy in Illium’s eyes. Aodhan propped himself up on one elbow, trying to work it out. They were in a soft cocoon of feathers, and everything felt… safe, a tiny island of warmth in the darkness of the night. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this relaxed.

“You’re not unhappy she’s mated to Titus now, are you?” he asked Illium. “He still has all his limbs attached, so I assumed you approved.” 

Illium snickered, feathers rustling. “I told him if he hurt her I’d gut him,” he said, with merry unconcern for the fact that he’d been threatening an archangel. “He said if he betrayed her in such a way, he’d hand me the blade himself.” His expression sobered. “It’s good to see her so happy. I never dared hope.”

“Yes." He too had feared the Hummingbird would always be fragile, forever an echo of her old self, but she’d proved them both wrong. Perhaps there was hope for him, too.

Illium let out a sigh. "It’s good but… you know, strange. She doesn’t need me anymore.” 

“Yes, she does,” he disagreed. “She’ll always need you.” Just as he always would.

Illium shrugged and smiled, but Aodhan had the sense that there was still a shadow on his mood. “I guess. I’m glad she got another chance at love in any case.” He sounded wistful.

Aodhan couldn’t stop himself from reaching out, placing a hand against Illium’s bare chest. Warm skin, firm muscle, all of it tempting. “You’ll get another chance too,” he told him, because that was what a good friend would do. Even if the thought of Illium falling in love with another damn human made the broken pieces of him ache. 

“Will I?” 

Aodhan couldn’t read the expression in Illium’s golden eyes except that something in it sent shivers running along the length of his body.

He swallowed. “Elena says there are plenty of fish in the sea.”

“I’m not looking for a fish.”

Illium’s wings were suddenly pressing harder, rubbing shamelessly across the surface of his own, golden sunlight bursting into white-hot flames. Illium’s hands pulled them together, relentless, his mouth hard and claiming. No longer a serene cocoon but the center of an inferno.

He gasped, arching into the touch, his fingers curling against Illium’s chest, as if it could anchor him. Desire sharp enough to hurt. His mind spun, his grip on the world fracturing, and he was so disoriented that it took several moments to realize it when Illium abruptly disentangled himself and left the bed. He lay there, panting, hard and aching with need, while Illium raked him with his gaze from a distance.

“Touch yourself.” Illium's voice hard and dark.

He could only obey. 

***

It took a hard wank and a long, icy shower for Illium to even begin to approach professionalism after he left Aodhan’s room, and that only lasted until he saw Aodhan again, freshly showered and damp-haired. It made Illium want to rumple him up and make him lose control all over again.

Patience, he reminded himself. He was five hundred years old; he could have some bloody patience. Even if Aodhan made him feel desperate—desperate to take as much as or more than Aodhan was willing to give, to hoard against the day he’d lose him. 

Aodhan’s cheeks flushed faintly pink at the sight of him, but his expression was otherwise composed. “I’ve spoken to the healers. Xiaoli is stable, for now. Both she and Nianzu are still unconscious. The nightwatch found a couple more Infected rats—both freshly bitten.”

Right. They still had a job to do. Illium made himself focus.

“So the source is still out there, spreading. Did Xiaoli’s notes shed any light on whether she’d found anything?” Though this didn’t feel like it was about art theft anymore.

Aodhan shook his head, unrolling a map of the Citadel and spreading it across his desk. On it were red crosses marking where each of the Infected had been found, with a larger mark for the original attack on Nianzu in the vault. There was definitely a higher density of attacks closer to the vault, though last night’s crosses had spread further away, into an area that Aodhan said contained the Citadel’s gardens.

“I want to sweep this area again,” Aodhan said, tapping a finger on the green hatching. “Lots of potential hiding places. Maybe we missed something.”

They flew to the gardens, landing in a medicinal herb garden enclosed within white walls. The raked paths crunched under their boots as they searched. Illium was starting to get a sense for the wrongness Infected gave off, but there was no sign of it here, among the fragrant greenery.

They moved through to a traditional garden made of winding paths and arched bridges above tranquil waters. Sculptures nestled amid carefully natural rock formations. The whole scene was designed to evoke tranquility, but the back of Illium’s neck itched.

A premonition, he decided, when the angel Yasen landed next to Aodhan, once again too close. Aodhan stepped back, the feathers at his neck fluffing up in irritation. Illium's temper snapped.

Yasen yelped as Illium’s knife took off a hank of his hair, thudding into the trunk of a willow behind him. It had been tempting to hit him in the throat, but he _had_ promised Aodhan he’d behave, after all.

Yasen whirled on Illium, eyes blazing. “What the fuck?”

“So sorry,” Illium said blandly. “Thought you were an Infected. Maybe you should be more careful with personal space. Warriors can get twitchy, after all.”

Aodhan was giving him a cool look, but there was a twitch to his mouth that said he was trying hard not to laugh. He turned back to the angel. “Why are you here, Yasen?”

“I heard you were searching for Infected—I’m here to help.”

Illium had to bite his tongue to keep from telling Yasen that Aodhan didn’t need his help, now or ever. He wasn’t usually so possessive, but the urge to stride over to Aodhan and dust him head to foot with blue angel dust was nearly overwhelming.

Aodhan hit him with another stern look, which told him he wasn’t doing that great a job of hiding it. 

_You are not getting into a pissing contest with Yasen_.

_Wouldn’t be a contest._

Aodhan ignored him. “Yasen, start at the pagoda and work your way clockwise.” The pagoda was on the other side of the water garden. 

“It might be more efficient if—”

Illium suddenly wasn’t listening, his attention caught by a statue on top of a pile of rocks. He drew his sword.

Yasen stopped talking.

“What is it?” Aodhan asked.

“That statue. There was one just like it the other night in that creepy statue gallery on the lower levels.”

He and Aodhan exchanged glances, and Aodhan drew one of his own pair of swords. Yasen followed suit. Illium wanted to tell Aodhan to stay back, that he would go first, but he pushed the impulse down. He’d promised.

Almost as if he’d heard the thought, Aodhan spared him a half-smile. 

“Watch my back.” 

“Always.”

Aodhan drew closer to the statue, the creepily lifelike composition of a vampiric creature in black stone. The creature had bat-like wings and a long rat’s tail. Its hind legs weren’t human—more like a gargoyle’s, with large, fearsome talons. Its expression was a snarl with fangs bared and its hands curled into heavy claws.

Aodhan went to tap the statue with the point of his blade, but before he could, the statue moved.

The thing sprang to life, swiping at Aodhan, who blocked the blow with his sword. Its long tail whipped around, a cord wrapping around Aodhan’s ankle, toppling him, following it up with a kick of its hind legs. Aodhan’s hiss of pain made something go red inside him.

Illium charged, but the thing was fast, launching itself off Aodhan and across the garden in a blur of speed. He was in the air and darting after it, dodging around plants and rocks with ease. He threw, his aim true, but the knife bounced off the creature’s neck with a sound like striking stone. Aodhan’s blocking blow hadn’t damaged it as much as it should have either—its skin seemed to be as hard as the stone it resembled. 

Illium disappeared his sword and called in a mace. Bludgeoning it was, then.

Yasen was there beside him, and the two of them acted in a pincer movement, closing in on the creature between them. It was damned fast, but he wasn’t the Hummingbird’s son for nothing.

It shot up and he chased it, getting in a hard blow to its wings, sending stone fragments splashing into the pond below. The creature gave a high-pitched shriek like nails scratching on glass as it fell to earth. 

He landed next to it a moment later, and it turned on him, claws and talons out. With calm deliberation, he slammed into the creature with the mace, catching it straight in the throat. He kept slamming, smashing stone pieces free with every blow, taking grim satisfaction from pounding it to powder. His power thrummed in his blood as he swept the gargoyle remnants into a pile and incinerated them in a burst of controlled anger.

He turned back. Aodhan was propped up against the rocks, bloody gashes across his chest where the gargoyle’s clawed feet had caught him. Yasen was kneeling at his side, trying to stem the flow. 

The bottom dropped out of his world. He was next to Aodhan in a heartbeat. Yasen took one look at his face and backed off.

Aodhan grimaced. “Too damn slow.” His voice was slurred, and it shouldn’t have been. An angel of Aodhan’s age should already be half-healed, but instead the wounds were turning a mottled grey-black at the edges. Infected.

Illium had him in his arms the next moment, ignoring Aodhan's protest of, “I can walk, Bluebell!”

Illium ignored him and flew to the infirmary as quickly as he could. By the time he got there, Aodhan had lapsed into unconsciousness and his heart was squeezed so tight it was painful.

The healer approached, but Illium just held Aodhan closer, snarling at her. A red haze had descended, something feral set loose. All he could think was that he had failed once again to keep Aodhan safe. He had to keep him close to keep him safe. His arms tightened around Aodhan’s limp body.

“Illium.” A soft feminine voice, power shivering as she came into the room. Her power was cool and soothing as the night, and the strength of it shocked him back to himself. “Put. Him. Down.” The compassion in her voice made it no less a command.

He put Aodhan down, on the bed the healer waved at. Aodhan looked even paler than usual, his faint golden glow replaced by an unhealthy grey tinge, the lines of his face tight with pain. Black veins of toxin snaked over his skin. 

“Can you help him?” He turned back to the woman who was now the Archangel of China, an Ancient who was yet new to her role.

“Yes.” She moved to Aodhan, frowning as her hands passed over the air above him. “He’s been dosed with something more potent than most of the Infected we’ve seen.”

Illium told her and the healers about the creature they’d fought in the water garden. “There was never any theft—the statue ‘stole’ itself, attacked Nianzu on its way out, and went on to create more Infected, I’m pretty sure.”

“So we have not yet reached the end of the horrors my aunt left behind.” Sorrow and rage in those dark eyes. “You destroyed it?”

Illium nodded. 

“Good.” Energy began to gather in her palms. 

“You can cleanse the toxin, though, even if it’s more potent?”

“I have gained the ability to cleanse that which my aunt tainted.” A wry, too-knowing smile. “I’m sure you’re pleased to hear there are some benefits to being an archangel. Her gaze grew melancholy as it fell on Aodhan. “As there are some costs.”

There was no possible answer to that. He hoped with everything in him that that day was still a good half a millennium away. If it wasn’t—well, that just made him even more fiercely determined to enjoy every moment he had with Aodhan while he still could.

Suyin’s hands moved over Aodhan and he fought the urge to bat them away. Even knowing that it was to help, he hated that she was touching him. Aodhan was _his_ to touch. The thought held a feral edge, difficult to rein in even in the face of an archangel.

The black veins began to recede as she worked. Illium could tell when she’d cleansed the toxin because Aodhan’s flesh began to knit closed, his normal regenerative abilities kicking in. After a few long moments, Aodhan opened his eyes and took a sharp breath when he saw where he was—and who was there.

“My lady.” He bowed his head.

Suyin’s lips curved. “It seems I underestimated just how much trouble could arise in my absence.” But before Illium could flare up in Aodhan’s defense, she added. “I’m glad you were able to handle things.” Turning to the healers. “Now I will see to the others.”

Illium was barely aware of Suyin moving to find Xiaoli and Nianzu. His attention was all for the rapidly healing Aodhan, who was submitting to the healer’s checks with—well, not total relaxation—but nothing like the rigid tension he would’ve displayed only a few days ago. 

He met and held Aodhan’s eyes. Clearly Aodhan didn’t realize that Illium was wrestling with the desire to drag him back to his cave and bury him in soft blankets for the rest of eternity, because he would not be looking that sappy if he did. 

By the time the healer declared Aodhan good to go, Xiaoli and Nianzu were waking up. Nianzu was able to confirm that the thing that had attacked him had been a vampiric hybridised creature with stone-colored flesh. 

“I thought it was just a statue until I opened the crate and it came to life!” The old angel sounded indignant. “It’s put me days behind schedule!” He would’ve gone straight back to the vault except that Suyin stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Rest. Another day will make no difference, and I wish to check the rest of those crates for any further desecrations.” The sparkling black of her power shimmered across her wings in her anger. “An Infected monster disguised as a sculpture. My aunt’s idea of art was even more twisted than I knew.”

***

Aodhan wasn’t thrilled that he’d been laid low by a living _statue_ , of all things, but at least the source of the Citadel’s new wave of Infected had been eliminated, and there were two less of Suyin’s people in the infirmary. He would count that as victory enough.

Illium didn’t say a word outside of the essentials as Suyin asked for their reports, uncharacteristically quiet, humming with some strong repressed emotion. Aodhan knew what had caused the mood. Aodhan being hurt and unresponsive—however temporarily—would’ve stirred up old memories for Illium. Those long years when Illium had cared for him. But the wounds didn’t stir his own demons; injuries taken in battle had never been what distressed him. 

But demons burned in Illium’s eyes when they were finally alone in Aodhan’s room later that day. 

“You got hurt. I couldn’t protect you.” A flat statement, Illium’s hands moving under his shirt to press against the now-healed skin of Aodhan’s abdomen. The touch sparked pleasure all the way to his toes.

He held Illium’s gaze. “Yes. It won’t be the last time.”

“I hate that you got hurt. I can’t stand the thought that you might get hurt again.” Illium’s eyes were wild. He pressed Aodhan against the wall and nuzzled at his neck, hot breath sending goosebumps over his skin. “Fuck, you have no idea how much I want to wrap you up in cotton wool and make sure you stay there. And I know you won’t let me, and that terrifies me.”

The confession didn’t bother Aodhan as he’d once thought it might, because when it had counted, Illium hadn’t tried to clip his wings in the name of protecting him. Instead, something in him unwound, a tightness he hadn’t been aware of carrying all these centuries. It left him feeling almost giddy with the release, the lightness it left behind.

“I know.” He reached out, brushing fingers along Illium's jaw. “I too worry about you getting hurt. We are equals in this.” His voice grew soft. “I know I am not… content to be protected like she was, and I know that’s hard for you.” He almost apologized for that, but in the end he couldn’t. He wasn’t sorry for being who he was, except that if he’d been more like Illium’s mortal, perhaps Illium could have loved him.

Illium stared at him. “Who?”

He said her name, almost apologetically.

Illium continued to stare at him, until he flushed and went to drop his hand. Illium caught it, crushing his fingers in his fierceness. “Listen to me, Aodhan. I have never compared the two of you. It would be like comparing a bird to a fish, apples to oranges, two beautiful unlike things that are both what they were meant to be. You are perfect exactly as you are. And what I felt then—well, it was a long time ago, and I was a different man.”

Illium let out a deep, shuddering breath, replaced Aodhan’s hand against his cheek. “What I feel now—I want you. However I can have you. Even if all we can do is touch fingertips all night while we sleep.”

Aodhan closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of Illium’s skin against his fingertips. His whole body quivered. Time to risk all.

Opening his eyes, meeting Illium’s gaze head on. “Well, here, we’re going to have to disagree, because what I want is for you to touch me everywhere. Intimately. Right now.”


	8. Chapter 8

All the blood in Illium’s body rushed south, making him dizzy with horniness. “Are you sure? I’m… not in an easy mood.” It was hard to admit that, knowing it might make Aodhan change his mind, but he couldn’t give Aodhan anything less than honesty now.

Color stained Aodhan’s cheeks, but he nodded. “Yes.” His gaze was clear, determined—and dark with lust. “I trust you. I want you.” He dug his fingers into Illium’s stomach, working the shirt out of his belt. 

Illium clasped the back of Aodhan’s neck, fingers stirring the silken white-blond curls at the base of his skull. “If you get overwhelmed, you’ll tell me,” he demanded.

Aodhan’s pupils had nearly swallowed his irises. “I want to be overwhelmed.” He gasped as Illium growled, tightening the grip on the back of his neck. “But, yes. I’ll tell you.”

Illium brought their lips together. He hadn’t been kidding when he said he wasn’t in an easy mood. There was something feral in him tonight, a need to stake a claim, to have Aodhan under his wings, under his body. His own desperation shook him, but there was no trace of fear in Aodhan’s eyes and no tension in his body. 

“Let me,” he said, when Aodhan began to scrabble at his fastenings. He put his own hands over Aodhan's.

Aodhan swallowed, nodded, watching Illium's hands with breathless intensity. Despite the need clawing at him, Illium took his time, unwrapping Aodhan slowly.

"Remember to breathe, Sparkle," he murmured, and Aodhan let out a whoosh of air, a sudden, breathy laugh. "No passing out until later."

"Later?" 

"After the orgasms is acceptable." 

Aodhan's chuckle turned into a gasp as Illium reached for the fastening behind his wings. Illium couldn't resist lingering as he worked the hooks free, loving the way Aodhan quivered, the way he bit his lip to keep from moaning.

When Illium peeled away the last layer between them, he took a moment to step back and appreciate. Illium had always been casual about nudity; Aodhan, never, so it was the first time he’d seen Aodhan completely naked since they’d reached adulthood. 

He liked it, seeing Aodhan without anything between them. Tracking every inch of that smooth skin first with his eyes and then with his hands, light but possessive. He dipped his head to nip and suck at Aodhan's collarbone as he'd been dying to do for so long, stood back to appreciate the mark it left before it faded.

Aodhan trembled like a nervous horse under the appraisal, muscles gleaming with sweat, feathers shivering. Damn, but he was gorgeous.

Illium stripped himself with a flourish, and Aodhan's eyes went hot and dark. 

“Guess you finally did get that strip show you were daydreaming about. Hope you enjoyed it.” Judging from Aodhan’s hard-on, he had.

Aodhan smiled. “You could tell?”

“You pushed me up against a wall after I took my shirt off. Wasn’t that hard to work out. Also, there’s a naked painting of me in your room.”

“ _Multiple_ naked paintings,” Aodhan corrected mildly, but his breath hitched when Illium splayed a possessive hand on his chest. He leaned into the touch.

“On the bed.”

Aodhan went willingly when Illium pushed him backwards, stumbling a little in his eagerness. He scuttled back until he was kneeling in the center of the bed, looked up at Illium curiously. “You planning to join me?”

“Spread your wings.”

Aodhan’s pupils dilated, but he did it without hesitation, his wings draping across the coverings in a symphony of fractured light.

“Keep them spread.” Illium clambered onto the bed after him, straddled Aodhan’s legs, and toppled him backwards. 

He put his hands on Aodhan’s shoulders, shifting position so that his knees lay against the sensitive inner curves of Aodhan’s wings, holding them pinned open. Exposed. He grinned wickedly down at Aodhan, shifting his weight to tease him, feeling Aodhan’s cock rub against the curve of his arse.

Aodhan's eyes rolled back in his head and he arched, straining both into and against Illium’s weight keeping him trapped in that position.

Illium didn’t give him a chance to recover, bringing his hands down, burying them deep in the most sensitive feathers. The sound Aodhan made was so pornographic it ought to be illegal. He stroked his way from there to skin, skimming up Aodhan's sides and putting his palms flat on his pectoral muscles, letting his weight press there.

“You have no idea how much I’ve fantasized about having you under me,” he growled as Aodhan whimpered. “At my mercy.” He leaned down and licked at him.

Aodhan’s hands buried in his hair. “Illium,” he groaned. 

Illium let himself be tugged up into the kiss, laying siege to Aodhan’s mouth as he rocked their bodies against each other, tormenting them both. Aodhan tried and failed to stifle the sounds he was making. 

"That's right _—_ I want to hear you; let me hear you," Illium said roughly, sucking at Aodhan's neck. Licked at the sensitised flesh at the same time as he rubbed deliberately back against his cock. Aodhan arched and cried out, even louder this time. 

Aodhan was so deliciously responsive it made Illium want to linger over every inch of him. Aodhan's pale skin showed every touch, every bite, his nipples flushing red as Illium teased them, his kiss-swollen lips the same shade. Illium reared back so he could better admire him, putting a hand on Aodhan's chest to hold him down, still holding Aodhan's wings pinned with his knees. Aodhan's eyes were dazed, black swallowing the fractured green-blue, and his breath came in little gasps. 

" _Illium_." A desperate sound as he writhed, straining upwards against his weight. " _Please_."

Illium's own arousal sharpened, urgent, so hard it was painful. He rearranged himself, got them both aligned, and Aodhan wasn’t the only one moaning at the sensation of sliding against each other. 

He grabbed for lube out of empty air, caught Aodhan’s startled query with a grin. 

“You didn’t think weapons were the only thing worth holding in reserve, did you?”

Aodhan’s answer strangled into incoherent syllables as Illium slicked them up liberally and took them both in hand. At the first squeeze, Aodhan’s back arched so strongly that Illium had to throw his whole weight forward and spread his own wings to keep him down. 

“I—I can’t—”

Illium adjusted his grip, pumping only Aodhan this time.

Aodhan was trembling all over, voice cracking. “I want—” _I want more._ His thoughts were darting, desperate.

“You'll get it,” Illium promised. “But first you’re going to come now, with my hand on your cock, because I want to fuck you long and hard before you come again.” He kicked up the rhythm, the slick sound of his hand working almost drowned out by Aodhan’s harsh breathing.

_I—_

“Come for me, Aodhan. Now.”

Aodhan broke with a cry, his wings spasming. Illium felt the moment things tipped over the edge to over-sensitive, releasing his hold as Aodhan sagged, body going limp. 

_You are a domineering sadist_. Aodhan’s voice was drowsy with content though, and Illium took additional satisfaction from the fact that he still hadn’t managed to find his way back to his vocal cords.

“Didn’t I mention that as a benefit in the sign-up brochure?” Need clawed at him, but he leaned forward to scatter kisses across Aodhan’s skin. His hands worked their way lower, smoothing the curve of Aodhan’s arse.

 _Hmmm_. He could feel Aodhan’s distraction as his fingers traced shapes over his skin, circling him. But he was also dopey with post-coital goodness, only stiffening a little when Illium slicked more lube on him. _I can’t believe you’ve been carrying lube around with your power this entire time._

“Hey, always be prepared. And you should thank me, since you’re the one benefitting from my preparedness right now.” He pressed in a single digit.

Aodhan sucked in a breath, shifted. Illium held him still and waited until he’d started to relax, and then began to move, slowly, pumping in and out.

“Illium.” Aodhan had found his voice again, and it was hoarse and dark as whiskey. His breathing was no longer even, and his hands moved restlessly. 

When Illium slowly added more fingers and crooked his knuckles just so, Aodhan swallowed so hard it was audible. “Fuck, that’s—” He arched against him. His cock was stirring, half-hard again.

Illium couldn’t wait any longer. He removed his fingers, to Aodhan’s murmured protest, which died when he felt the blunt head of Illium’s cock press against him.

He tensed up. 

“Relax,” Illium told him, leaned forward to claim his mouth again. 

_That’s easy for you to—_

Illium couldn’t blame Aodhan for breaking off because the world had abruptly narrowed to a hot, tight sensation. The mindless urge to rut had him fighting for control, and he shook with the effort of holding himself still. He had to make this good for Aodhan, had to make it so good he craved it, couldn’t ever give it up. Couldn’t ever leave him.

It was Aodhan who moved, pushing up and impaling himself. With a choked cry, Illium began to thrust. Aodhan was so tight, clenching around him. Pleasure shot through him in tight bolts as he drove deeper. Their harsh intermingled breaths, the slap of flesh against flesh, Aodhan’s head falling back with a moan, his cock now fully erect and jutting out from his body.

Aodhan wrapped his long legs around his waist, and Illium dug his fingers into his hips, no longer caring if he was careful, only that he needed this, needed Aodhan. 

His smooth rhythm broke, and his wings flared out, adding momentum to each stroke, driving deeper, harder. Every nerve ending lit up. Aodhan was his. He pounded him flat and Aodhan met him, stroke for stroke.

He came with a scream, seed pumping out. Aodhan clenched around him, his own release a strangled cry, cut-off as Illium leaned forward to bite him hard on the neck, wanting to leave a mark. _You are mine._

They collapsed onto the mattress in a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs and angel dust. Both of them were panting and clutching for the other, desperate to touch skin to skin. He curled himself against Aodhan’s wings, and Aodhan shivered but arched into the contact, oversensitive but still hungry for more. 

Just like him.

 _Mine_ , he thought again, savage with need, nipping at Aodhan’s neck again. The mark faded even as he watched, and he was shaken by the intensity of his emotions, by his own desperation.

“Stay with me, please.”

Aodhan blinked dazedly up at him. “I’m not planning to move anytime soon. I’m not actually sure my legs still work.”

“No, I mean when I… if I…” Illium trailed off, unable to voice the rest of the request. It was too much to ask this soon.

Aodhan propped himself up on one elbow, frowning. “If you what?”

Illium couldn’t look at him as he said the words he’d never said aloud. They fell softly as feathers. “When I become an archangel.” 

The air sucked out of Aodhan with a rush. “You would want me to?”

Illium moved away. “Forget I said anything. It’s foolish to borrow trouble over a future that may not happen, and I know you’re as loyal to the Sire as I am. It's probably centuries and centuries away anyway.” 

Aodhan stopped him with a hand on his wrist. “I’ve always planned to go with you, if you wanted me. I thought you knew that. I serve Raphael gladly, and I will miss our brothers among the Seven, but there’s never been any question in my mind of where my deepest loyalties lie.”

That threw him. “Why?”

“Because I’m yours.” Aodhan said the words as simple truth, flushing a little. “Whether you want me or not. I’m yours.” He averted his eyes, just as nervous as Illium was, he realized suddenly. 

“Oh.” A giddy, wondering hope began to well up. 

“Oh?” Aodhan snuck a look at him.

“Oh, good.” Illium wound their fingers together, tugging Aodhan closer as he broke out in a broad smile. “Because I love you too, Sparkle.”


End file.
